


The Smell Before Rain

by yourpricelessadvice



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Baker Harry, Bisexual Male Character, Blow Jobs, Drinking, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Infertility, M/M, Manchester, Nicknames, OT5 Friendship, Recreational Drug Use, Teacher Louis, dirty texts, famous ed sheeran, music references, non-famous ot5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 72,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5918359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourpricelessadvice/pseuds/yourpricelessadvice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quirky and polite Harry Styles turns up at Zayn's door looking to rent out his spare room.</p><p>Featuring over worked and poorly fed Louis, delicate, beautiful Harry, career/family man hybrid Liam, Wheeler Dealer Zayn and carefree Niall. Including domestic Sophiam bliss and OT5 friendship and Ed Sheeran-OT5 friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. This is fiction so does not represent any of the views or characteristics of anyone in or associated with One Direction.
> 
> Please enjoy!

He peers up at the unsuspecting brick three storey block, sad and rain-spattered against the charcoal grey sky. He steps off the kerb into a puddle and muses that if his mood was a single action, it’d be this right now. Typical that the only day to rain this week would be the day he has to walk fifteen minutes across the city to check out a room for rent.

The white paint is peeling off the window frames and the entry system has obscenities scratched into the surface. He pulls out the scrap of crumpled paper from his pocket again to verify – number 2. He presses the buzzer which bleats weakly somewhere inside.

“C’mon up,” A deep, dry sounding voice comes distantly through the speaker.

Harry pushes the heavy door tentatively, expecting more of a formal greeting. On the other side of the door, the hall is barely big enough to swing a cat. It’s a bit musky but that might be the rain. He’s only two steps inside the door before he’s making his way up the stairs, threadbare grey carpet and scuffed cream walls.

The door with the tarnished gold ‘2’ on the front is ajar when Harry steps onto the first floor landing. A dark-skinned Godlike creature leans against the door frame, arms folded over a faded Ramones t-shirt. “Harry, right?”

“Yeah, hi, sorry I’m uh, late. Rain…”

“No worries, I’m Zayn, obviously. Come in,” He steps to the side and holds the door open. Harry steps inside; the aroma of the place a heady mix of fading smoke, spices and aftershave.

Zayn shows him around; there’s not much to see to be honest. One door remains pulled too the whole time so Harry assumes that’s Zayn’s room. His potential room is pretty plain, discoloured patches on the walls give away the age and dilapidation of the building, but it’s warm and had a tall curved windows offer columns of watery light that Harry suspects will be just lovely on a sunny day.

The kitchen is quaint, a small box room with old fashioned wooden units all around, a small window with a bushy pot plant resting precariously on the sill and scruffy black and white checked floor tiles. The same floor tiles extend into the bathroom. It’s nice enough, Harry’s not too picky. He just needs somewhere to live. The living room seems to be the most put together, the most thoughtful. The furniture is antiquated to say the least; two mustardy-orange velour sofas face each other with a (hideous) patterned rug of a similar auburn hue beneath a boxy pine coffee table. As they stand in the middle of the small amount of floor space, he notices the overpowering smell cinnamon coming from the potpourri bowl on the table.

“There’s no dining room?” Harry asks, and Zayn raises his eyebrows in the same way Harry has seen him do four times already.

“Nah, we just kinda eat on the sofa,” Zayn says, dismissively waiving a hand.

“Cool music,” Harry crouches down and inspects the lower shelf of the bookcase. “Jesus, where did you get these?”

“Eh?” Zayn asks nonchalantly, like he’s thoroughly uninterested.

“These Ed Sheeran tapes, these are like, really rare! You a fan?”

“You could say that,” Zayn creases with laughter, much to Harry’s surprise. He unfolds back up to his full height with a frown. “He’s me old roommate, pal. It’s his old room you’ve just been looking at!”

“Fucking hell…” Harry says slowly but his heart speeds. “You’re serious?”

Zayn chuckles, “You’ve heard of him then?”

“Are you joking?” Harry stares back agape as Zayn smirks with a roll of his burning amber eyes. Harry figures that he must get this a lot. “Ed Sheeran used to live here? With you? Right here?”

Zayn nods simply, crossing his arms across his chest. “That piqued your interest?”

“Well, it’s a nice place, don’t get me wrong. Good… views,” Harry stammers, turning to look out of the rain-speckled pane. Zayn chuckles as his cheeks redden.#

“Look, if you’re interested the rooms yours, mate.”

“Okay, consider your spare room filled.” Zayn quirks an eyebrow and they slap together a brisk, confirmative handshake.

 

***

 

Louis stands before his wardrobe, doors flung open, staring hopelessly. His vision blurs and swims as every single shirt in his possession merges into the last and renders him with nothing to wear. He slams the doors decisively as the intercom buzzes down the hall.

“You can come in if you’re gorgeous!” He quips into the speakerphone, the voice on the other end chuckling heartily.

“Zayny boy, welcome. I need help,”

“You could say that,” Zayn purses his lips as Louis points towards his bedroom door.

“Help me choose what to wear.” Louis says solidly. Zayn raises his eyebrows expectantly. “ _Please_?”

Zayn rolls his eyes but tears off his beaten leather jacket and sets about critiquing the articles hanging in Louis’ wardrobe. He dismisses a good portion of the items within a few minutes, which helps. The thing with Louis, Liam has always said, is that day to day he dresses great and has the confidence to match, but as soon as he has somewhere official to go where his outfit requires thought and pre-planning, he becomes a bag of nerves.

He has settled on a pair of black skinny jeans, that’s the easy part. He can do jeans, but what the hell goes with black? Should he go for a shirt, a t-shirt, a polo? V-neck or round neck? Colour, plain or patterned?

“What’s this, the reject pile?” Zayn peers down at the pile of colours and prints on the end of the bed. Louis nods sagely. “Where’s the maybe pile?”

“Here,” Louis holds up two potential items that made the ‘maybe’ pile; a brushed cotton pale blue shirt and a thin knit charcoal grey jumper with black collar.

“ _This_ is your maybe pile? You don’t leave me much to work with Lou!” Zayn pulls a grey jumper out of the reject pile and holds it up. “Maybe reconsider this one?”

“Really?” Louis eyes it cautiously, like it might burst into flames at any time. “I’d rejected it though.”

“D’you want my advice or not?” Zayn plucks a plain long sleeved white button down off the hanger and hands it over. “Put it over this shirt,”

“Here goes…” Louis sing songs, grabbing the garment and observing it again.

“Found someone to rent the spare room out, by the way. Harry something. Seems cool,”

“That’s good,” Louis says flatly. He peers down as he buttons his white shirt. “I miss Ed.”

“You miss being able to use ‘I know Ed Sheeran’ to pull you mean!” Zayn laughs heartily which soon turns into a chesty cough.

“Like you never, hand on heart, used it?” Louis says, muffled as he pulls on his cashmere grey jumper.

“Maybe once,” Zayn mumbles into his chest. “Nine times outta ten it never worked anyway,”

“For you, maybe,” Louis snorts. He turns to face him with jazz hands. “Well…?”

Zayn pats down his shoulders and tweaks the collar of his shirt. He reaches around him to grab his aftershave and squirts two puffs of Bleu De Chanel onto his exposed skin. “Knock 'em dead, Tommo.”

 

***  

 

Liam reclines on the sofa, house phone pinned to his ear as Louis barks down the phone at him an overview of his night with “Dishy but Drippy” Daniel. He tunes out briefly to smiles apologetically at Sophia, miming a chatterbox with his spare hand.

“Sounds grim mate,” He offers. Louis prattles on again, telling him all about the stilted conversation, awkward jokes and the highlight of the whole day, the food. As he listens, a text from Niall illuminates his mobile, simply saying ‘pub 2nite?’ Liam shakes his head to himself and types out a quick rejection to Niall, zoning out of his telephone conversation just a bit. He stretched precariously across to pinch Sophia’s bum as she got up to wander into the kitchen.

Louis can truly talk for England, and when his dulcet tones are laced with drunken enthusiasm to hide his disappointment, he is even chattier. Several times Liam opens his mouth to speak but Louis launches into another tirade and he’s silenced once more. After ten more minutes he finally manages to usher Louis off the phone with promises of a text if he wanted to chat further.

“Sorry, love, Lou’s been out so had to phone and update, of course,” Liam slips in behind Sophia who stands at the oven with one hand on her hip. He slides one arm through the gap and tucks the other one around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder, the coconutty aroma of her dark hair triggering his senses.

“He’s back early isn’t he?” Sophia gazes up at the clock, which reads 7.20.

“He’s started this new thing, lunch dates,” Liam explains, hearing Louis’ spiel in his head. “He says that way, he’s less likely to get drunk and sleep with them,”

“Oh… right!” Sophia smirks. They all know full well Louis hasn’t stuck to that rule since he made it. He might say that he does, but he doesn’t.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s sitting before a steaming hot plate of seafood linguine, picturing Can’t-Cook-Won’t-Cook Louis alone at home, sexually frustrated and half-buzzed on white wine slaving over a hot microwave.

 

*** 

 

Louis contemplates his miserable Sunday afternoon on the bus to work the next morning. It’s early, too damn early, and the rain of yesterday has persisted through the night, leaving inky puddles everywhere. The windows of the bus are steamed up and rain spattered. He absent-mindedly traces a pattern onto the glass, loosing himself in Brand New deafening himself through the headphones.

Daniel, Danny whatever he calls himself, was nice. Fit, but that’s as far as it goes. Not much between the ears, as his mum would say.

Pushing Daniel out of his mind, he concentrates on the day ahead of him. Dealing with 15 screeching four and five year olds was always easier when his head wasn’t fuzzy from too much white wine, but he must soldier on regardless. His sallow reflection in the grimy bus window is enough to make him want to top himself; get off the bus and run ahead a bit, allowing it to pick up enough speed and then jump in front of it.

He arrives at school just before 7.30, an hour before the kids are due to start turning up. He steps into his classroom, the motion sensor lights stuttering into life. The children’s brightly coloured works of art and display boards instantly lighten his mood.

He sets about placing a glue stick, pair of safety scissors and selection of coloured card down for every child, mentally assessing the percentage of paper and glitter and stickers that will end up trodden into the carpet by lunchtime. At his desk tucked away in the corner by the home corner, he makes sure he’s got the register and lesson plan ready.

He continues about his morning, sticking all the kids name tags to their pegs ready for them to hang their coats up, makes sure the reading corner and book corner are tidy and opens up all the blinds. Strong early morning sun pours in, blinding him temporarily. He takes a deep breath and flops down at his desk, his Costa latte now cool enough to drink.

He makes it through the morning relatively unscathed; it’s quite enjoyable doing projects with the kids. This week they are working on Mother’s Day cards. It’s pretty light and easy going on his lingering hangover. He hovers around the room, flitting between the two tables of children, making sure no digits have been severed with scissors and no one is sticking gluey articles up their noses.

By the time the kids filter out for their fifteen minute break, their half-finished projects strewn over the desks in a mass of glitter and scrappy ends of coloured card, it is closer to lunchtime than it is the morning and his head is beginning to clear. He runs to the staffroom to grab a bottle of water from the vending machine, downing it in one.

“Thirsty?” Miss Wilkins – Rebecca – asks, the chilled liquid giving him brain freeze.

“Someone decided I was allowed out on a Sunday,” He says grimly, portraying his regret on his face.

“Oh dear, is the dirty beer to blame?”

“White wine,” Louis corrects, sighing heavily but smiling all the while. Rebecca was the closest in age to him out of the rest of the staff; there were the older ladies, Mrs Fitzpatrick and Miss Day, who taught year 3 and year 6 that doted on him and were quite motherly – even grandmotherly – to him, but Rebecca was his go-to girl.

“Oh dear, Lou, what have I told you about drinking on school nights?”

“I know, I know, I’m a terrible person,” He bats a hand at her, glancing at the clock. Memories of their first – and only – night out together, a very drunken, very irresponsible and debaucherous night at Churchill’s in Manchester flicker through mind as he glances at the clock. He launches his empty water vessel across the room to the bin with expert accuracy, and with a double thumbs up says, “Better get back, Mother’s Day cards part two awaits!”

 

***

 

“Where is he then?” Niall bursts through the open door, almost ripping it off its hinges.

“Who?” Zayn asks blankly, not looking up from the TV screen. He’s perched right on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward on his arms playing Fifa.

“The new guy? Thought you said you had a new roommate?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s not moving in til Friday, stuff to sort out apparently.”

“Oh okay,” Niall concludes, and that’s that. He wanders across to the kitchenette and pulls open the fridge door without a care. “Got any beers in?”

“Yes, as you can clearly see,” Zayn smirks as Niall plucks two cans from the middle shelf and settles back on the sofa next to him. He opens one and taps Zayn on the back with the other to let him know it’s there. Zayn grunts and, again, doesn’t take his eyes off the game until the half time pause.

Despite his penchant for getting the munchies while high, Zayn never kept anything delicious in the cupboards, for some reason, so Niall had long since learned to bring his own sustenance unless he fancied riding out his buzz with homemade samosas or organic hummus on a Ryvita.

“What times Lame-o getting here?” Niall stands to retrieve a rather flattened half a Greggs' steak slice from his jeans pocket.

“Not til about 7,” Zayn mutters, rolling his eyes fondly at the unfortunate nickname Niall had so kindly afforded to Liam. “Don’t flake pastry on me sofa.”

Niall pulls a face and glances at his phone; 16:07. Ignoring Zayn’s comment, he takes another bite and with his mouthful says “Christ, I’m a bit premature then.”

“Yeah, y’are.” Zayn finally puts the controller down, game paused, and turns to Niall for the first time. “You bloody unemployeds got nothin’ better to do than laze around drinking in the afternoon,”

“Says you!” Niall scoffs, clapping a hand over Zayn’s back as he reaches for his beer. “You’re home at…. ten past four on a Monday afternoon as well, if I’m not imagining you.”

“I’m not unemployed, I work,”

“In the loosest possible sense of the word, Mal,” Niall scoffs. He takes a hefty swig of beer and lets out a contented sigh. “It’s been a while since you’ve been at the Community centre, what’s going on there?”

“I dunno mate,” Zayn replies honestly. It _has_ been a while since Remi has been in touch with the opportunity to run a course with him. It’s been two weeks since his dad has had him at the restaurant waiting tables, but he’s had two end of tenancy clear outs in the last few weeks that have paid handsomely and with Harry’s first two weeks rent paid up front, he’s good to go for. For the next month or so, anyway. “Sure Rem will be in touch when something comes up.”

“So shady,”

“It’s _not_ shady, it’s cash in hand.”

“Exactly.”

 

***

 

“Leemo!” Niall enthuses, third beer in hand, as a disgruntled and drained Liam shuffles in, dropping his coat and kicking off his shoes in his wake.

“Welcome, please, make yourself at home,” Zayn mutters, handing him a beer. Liam snatches it gratefully and chugs half of it away. “Tough day mate?”

“I hate fucking call centres. I hate supervising 17 year olds that are a day out of school and haven’t got a _bloody_ clue. I hate fucking everything.”

“Oh boohoo,” Zayn kicks his shoes into the corner and leans down to undo Liam’s tie. “Fuck off Mr Corporate, we’re here for beer and Fifa.”

“You’re decidedly more hairy than the last person to start undressing me, Zayn!” Liam says flatly, moving his head out of the way as Zayn fiddles with his tie knot. Zayn just scoffs a soft laugh out of his nose, undoing the knot of the silken grey material easily.

“Tommo!” Niall suddenly booms into his phone, everyone turning to look at him. From their one-sided vantage point of the conversation, they gather that, regretfully, and despite Niall’s persuasive Irish charm, Louis will not be joining them for beer and Fifa.

“You tried, mate.” Zayn offers as Niall puts away his phone with a huff and a mutter.

Raw goes on and the beers come out, Liam and his plight against the uneducated masses effectively silenced by sweaty burly men jumping on each other. Liam’s mood softens with another beer, the talk of baby making kept a minimum in the absence of his biggest supported Louis.

 

***

 

It was a struggle stretched over 48 painful hours, but Harry managed to get his initial deposit back from the landlord on his room. With £90 in his pocket and feeling conspicuous, he dashes away from the block to the tram, hopping on the Eccles line.

He keeps his hands firmly in his pockets as he gazes out of the grimy window. The cityscape chugs by steadily before slowing down through the more built up areas. he swings his backpack over his shoulder and jumps off in the town centre, weaving in and out of the shoppers and pushchairs and men in suits.

It’s one in the afternoon when he arrives. His eyelids are heavy from his early morning shift and really, showing up unannounced in the middle of a week day probably isn’t best practice, and he could well have spent credit on his tram card on a wasted journey. He approaches the building, it looks nicer in the sunlight. He presses number two and waits patiently.

“Yeah?” Zayn’s uninterested, unaffected tone spills out from the speaker, piercing Harry’s skin.

“Oh, sorry it’s Harry. From, uh-”

“Y’alright mate, come on up!” Zayn abruptly cuts him off and the door buzzes. Harry lets himself in and bounds up the stairs two at a time, contemplating briefly how nice it is not to hear shouting or sirens.

Inside, golden sunshine pours in through the window and Radio 1 hums softly in the background. The air is filled with fragrant spice and a flowering purple plant on the window sill radiates like Harry had never seen before. “Did you need anything, lad?” Zayn coaxes politely, smiling back softly at the dazed looking boy before him.

“Oh, sorry, just had another weeks rent so thought I’d bring it over. Once it’s paid it’s paid, an’ all that. Don’t like money hanging over me head,”

“Fair play,” Zayn accepts the £55 without hesitance, leaving Harry calmer with just £35 in his pocket. “You still aiming for Friday, yeah?”

“Yeah, what time do you mind me coming by?”

“Whenever, kid, I’m easy. Say eleven-ish?”

“Okay, sure thing.” Harry nods, desperate to please and be accommodating. He revels momentarily in the peaceful lull of the place. No screaming, no crying, no sirens. From the kitchen he can smell curry; a cooked dinner every night, surely not? Somewhere deep in his heart he feels a warmth spread.

“Anything else you needed?” Zayn looking back at him expectantly brings him back to reality.

“Oh, no sorry. I best be off I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. “See you Friday then?”

He seems sincere and warm and the look in his eyes isn’t a nasty one. Harry just nods and shuffles to the door, giving an almost non-existent goodbye.

Back out on the street, the chill that hasn’t quite shifted from the mid-March air nips at the tip of his nose and the tops of his ears, colouring his cheeks instantly. He digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his khaki bomber, picking at a rip in the stitching with his little finger nail. He hears the tram in the distance but heads off in the opposite direction, back towards home. It isn’t home for much longer though, and the closest thing he’s heard to good news in a long while. Once the expanse of high rise flats and derelict old buildings thins out and the sun gets a chance to peek through, the air becomes a fraction warmer on Harry’s pale skin and he feels a bit better. Of course, he should probably zip up his jacket but he’s non-conformist like that so will huddle over with his hands deep in his pockets rather than zip up.

Fittingly, once his soon-to-be old building looms up ahead on his right, the sun disappears behind a cloud and there’s bitterness in the air once again. An impressively beautiful German Shepherd stalks along the pavement heading towards him. His instinct is to kneel down and pet her, but the owner on the other end of the chain is short and squat with a scowl and a face tattoo, so he decides better of it.

Wordlessly, he lets himself into the block and waits for the lift for a minute or two before giving up and heading up the stairs. The beautiful, urine soaked stair case that meanders up the outside of the building, the wind whistling and howling more the higher he climbs.

By the time he gets to the fifth floor, his legs are shamefully jelly-like and a sheen of sweat covers his forehead. He longs for the quiet, carpeted, sweet-smelling corridors of Zayn’s building. He tries to remember that it’s only two more days and then he’ll be gone.

Traipsing through the corridor, his shoes scuff on the bare concrete floor, he tries to avoid touching anything as he walks through. He battles his way past an old bicycle, two precarious stacks of dusty old books and a punch bag balanced in the corner, half blocking the doorway. Very ironic that Ray has a punch bag when he prefers to use his girlfriend.

It doesn’t seem as if anyone is in, which Harry delights in. Safely tucked away in his room, he fishes the star shaped shortbread biscuit out of his bag he’d taken from work and breaks off a spike at a time, congratulating himself on the sugary, crumbly consistency he’d perfected. A bird sings outside the window and he closes his eyes, head resting on his pillow idly. With his eyes closed and the sweet sugary treat still fresh on his tongue, this could almost pass for a good day; a nice day. All he has to do is keep his eyes closed and pretend that Ray’s never coming back.

 

***

 

“I can only stay an hour. I’m still a slave to education for one more day, sorry.” Louis sighs dramatically as he breezes through the doors on Thursday evening, sending a salute to Chris behind the bar. He pats Liam dutifully on the shoulder and squeezes round the table and clambers over Niall, arse to face, instead of going round to take his place like any normal human being.

“Same, I can’t stay much later than that either, Soph’s doing dinner for eight,” Liam says for the second time that evening.

“Christ, who invited these two ol’ saps?” Niall mutters to himself, reaching over to break off a handful of nachos cemented together in a globule of melted plastic cheese. With grease on his chin he goes in for another handful. Louis pulls a face and bats Niall’s hand away as he tries to force feed him a slab of melted cheese.

“That’s fine, Li, all the more drinking time for us!” Zayn says with a smug grin, setting down a tray of five beers as he catches the end of the conversation.

“Speaking of which, thought you were skint, Mally?” Niall directs at Zayn, eyebrows furrowing accusingly although he is harmless really.

“Harry brought round another weeks rent for… _some_ reason, so I’m flush for a while.”

“Who the _fuck_ is Harry?” Louis asks, drawing a blank.

“The bloke who’s moving in,” Zayn says tiredly. “I’ve told you many, _many_ times, Louis.”

Louis considers this for a moment, his bright blue portals blank with confusion and disinterest. “Okay, don’t remember but okay.”

“Anyway!” Liam claps his hands together, effectively ending the Harry-talk. “This month could be the month lads, keep everything crossed!”

“Liam please don’t start talking about uterine linings again, please!” Zayn exclaims, unusually animated for him. Liam pouts as he jostles his shoulder to show he is well-meaning. “No talk of semen analysis or weeing on sticks please!”

“Jesus Christ, I’m eating here!” Niall bellows from across the table, scowling at Liam with a mouthful of cheesy, crispy goodness.

“Don’t listen to ‘em, Lame-o, I will be wishing for baby dust for you!” Louis flicks a discarded corner of a nacho in his direction. Perfectly, it lands inside the chest pocket of his soft blue shirt.

“Couldn’t do that again if you tried, mate!” Niall laments in awe. “Tommo’s obviously good at getting things where they need to be, let ‘im have a crack at it!” Niall continues, despite the absurdity of what he’s just said. The whole table erupts with laughter and Louis’ cheeks redden slightly.

“I don’t think I’m very well prepared for... _that_ kind of sex,” He quips easily, turning to Liam with mock sincerity. “Sorry Li.”

“Um, that’s okay?” Liam answers with a look of bewilderment.

Things have taken a bizarre turn, as they usually do with Niall. He must be a little bit high. That would not be unusual for Niall. Liam had once got a little over-zealous talking about baby making and everything that went into trying for a baby with the unfortunate but very real diagnosis of unexplained secondary sub-fertility. Niall was left pale-faced and, Zayn slack-jawed and Louis surprised at the struggle some couples had to go through to start a family. He had always assumed that vagina-less gay couples like him and his Future Mr Right would have the toughest time starting a family but perhaps not.

Liam had confessed to Louis once that Sophia had been pregnant twice. Those babies would be three and eighteen months now, but it wasn’t to be. They soldiered on, frittering away countless pounds each month on ovulation kits and pregnancy tests, seemingly to no avail. Now Louis is no expert, but he gathers from reading between the lines that having _that_ much nookie to no avail each month kind of takes the fun out of it.

His promise to only stay for an hour overruns into the next hour, and an hour and forty five minutes later he’s finally back on the beaten track, headed for home. Miserably, lonely, deafeningly quiet home. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was dead-on-his-feet tired and still owing one more day to the Work Gods, he’d have stayed at the pub and drunk himself into an oblivion that he could not afford.

Following the same path that Liam would have taken just half an hour before him, he wanders through the myriad of turns and crossings, down the main road, cutting between the houses to bring him out by the playing field, across said field then through the estate to the flats right on the edge, the roar of the traffic on the dual carriage way still thundering past just on the horizon. His messenger slaps against his bum with every languid step he takes.

His flat is cold when he gets in, as he expected. He flicks on the light switch and the lights that judder into life above him after a momentary pause. He disregards the thermostat with a sad glance, thinking of diving into bed and hiding under the covers. His stomach rumbles upon sight of the kitchen, the cheese and ham sandwich he had at lunch a distant memory and the churn of three pints of beer in his empty stomach almost painful. He squats down in front of the fridge, peering in at the barren shelves. He’s got eggs and an omelette appeals, but that takes too long. Some tomatoes begin to shrivel in the vegetable drawer, two delicious and nutritious bottles of Budweiser clink in the door pleasantly, but its approaching nine and his better judgement tells him that would _not_ be a good idea. With burning hamstrings and an audible sigh, he stands up and chucks two pieces of limp bread into the toaster. Another bread based meal, perfect.

With a bit of food lining his stomach to stop the pangs, he wanders through the feed his three fish before bedtime. Definition of rock ‘n’ roll, that. They silently glide to the surface to gulp down the flakes before dispersing again, the biggest one travelling gracefully over to the ornate treasure chest on the bottom of the tank like normal.

He briefly considers flicking on the TV for a while, catch up on the sports news or catch the end of some crappy quiz show, but the boisterous ticking of the wall clock is incessant, driving him against his will to his cold, unloved bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two. These events cover just one day. 
> 
> Featuring lots of OT5 friendship and HL's first meeting! Yay.
> 
> Please enjoy!

“Am I alright to bring some stuff up?” A timid, polite little voice rings through the intercom, a stark contrast to the shrill, harsh ring of the door. Zayn rolls his eyes fondly and buzzes him up.

It’s finally Friday, about an hour earlier than Zayn had hoped to be awake but maybe getting up before 11am every once in a while could be good for him. The sun is threatening to break through the murky grey clouds; it streams in through the windows highlighting the dust on the sills and the bits he hasn’t vacuumed off the carpet yet.

He hears a scuffle outside and a brief pause. He rolls his eyes as Harry falters in the door way, as anticipated, before nudging the door open. “Hi,”

He greets him with a friendly wave, galloping across the room (to be fair he does it in two short strides) to hold open the door. “Where’s the stuff then, d’you need a hand bringing it up?”

“Nah, this is all of it mostly,” Harry shrugs, setting down a navy Adidas holdall on the ground.

Zayn peers back sceptically; taking in two more measly carrier bags in Harry’s other hand. “Is this a joke?”

“Uh… no?” Harry answers unsurely, confusion evident in his shy green eyes.

“This is all you have? What… where do you… how do you even live?”

“I’ve never had much stuff. I’ve always had furnished rooms so not needed much stuff, just essentials,”

“Obviously,” Zayn says in bewilderment. Suddenly, he realises he’s blocking the way of the door. He steps back dutifully and Harry steps over the threshold, ducking as he goes. Jesus Christ, this boy would scare himself if he turned around too fast. “Well, it’s all cleared and ready for you. I’ll get you your keys too, so you don’t have to keep knocking.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, again politely as ever as he wanders softly across the room to the bedrooms across the narrow hall.

Zayn puts the keys on the kitchen unit and leans against it, bemused and confused. This boy is definitely different. His voice has never risen above about fifty decibels or twenty words per minute; he looks like he’s just witnessed Bambi’s mum being killed. He listens to him whistling softly as he pads about in the room, the slight shuffle of furniture for about five seconds before silence again. God, he even moves furniture delicately.

“Sorry for the banging, just moved the bed over a bit,” Harry begins, Zayn staring back at him with half a smirk tugging on his lips. “If that’s okay, of course!”

“Mate, calm down honestly, it’s your room you can do what you like, alright?”

“Alright,” Harry agrees after a moment’s pause. He points a slender finger to the keys on the countertop. “These mine?”

“Yeah, I do have a few spares but hopefully you won’t need ‘em. There’s a tradesman button downstairs on the intercom that will let you in the main door without a key until 11am, otherwise it’s the big gold one for downstairs and the silver one for the front door,”

“Okay…” Harry says slowly, his expression fixed and stern as if he is trying to make sure he doesn’t forget. “I’ve gotta head back to work soon, I’m working til four.”

“No worries!” Zayn slaps his hands together, Harry blinking twice at the disruption. “Time for a quick cuppa?”

“Oh, um… yes please, milky no sugar please.”

Please… twice. Of course.

 

***

 

Louis is always happier on Fridays. The sky is clear and blue as he makes his way to the bus stop, fresh air bites at his face but the sun beats down and takes the edge off. Far away in the distance, he even heard birdsong. It’s going to be a good day. Hopefully. It’s definitely going to be a long day; an invitation to Zayn’s that he just can’t get out of capping off his evening.

Assessing the change in his pocket, he forgoes pricey Costa in favour of a latte from Greggs, the sausage rolls and bacon turnovers calling out to him despite it only being quarter past seven in the morning. Mournfully, he heads out of Greggs with just his hot beverage for company and heads in the direction of the bus stop, hoping that he hasn’t missed his connecting bus by stopping for coffee.

His brain skips on ahead of him and mentally checks off a list of today’s activities; firstly he has a cutting and sticking based counting game to get through, followed by a spelling test and then arts and crafts using empty yoghurt pots and multi-coloured pipe cleaners. But hey, at least it’s Friday.

 

***

 

Zayn’s peaceful Friday morning peace is effectively shattered by a loud knocking on the door to the tune of Back in Black by AC/DC.

“How did you get up, I didn’t buzz you in?”

“Charming!” Niall laughs heartily and dumps a blue carrier bag of Pringles, Doritos and Malteasers. “Mandy was coming out and she held the door for me. Nice girl.”

Zayn nods appreciatively but still whacks Niall round the head. Mandy is famous in their friendship group as the young blonde girl from number 5 on the third floor, the girl who pegs her tiny pastel coloured lace knickers on the communal washing line during the summer.

“Wind your neck in, Irish, she don’t need corrupting by you.”

“Killjoy.” Niall says flatly, motioning towards the tiny little balcony jutting off the end of the kitchen. “Where’s your roomie?”

“’E came by for five minutes but then went back to work, apparently.” Zayn says as he grabs his Tupperware from under the coffee table and follows Niall outside.

The balcony is just about wide enough to fit two plastic garden chairs on, and the kitchen door must be closed at all times otherwise one person will always be hidden behind it. One at a time they manoeuvre themselves around the chairs and settle in to enjoy a smoke.

Niall bounces his leg and taps on the arm of the chair annoyingly as Zayn focusses on rolling up.

“D’ya have to do that?” He asks, but Niall doesn’t cease. Sighing and muttering under his breath, he finishes up and passes the perfectly coned joint to Niall to light.

“Thank you, good sir.” Niall murmurs with it between his lips. Soon the reassuring and comforting aroma fills the air around them and the edges start to soften.

“He’s a bit bloody strange,” Zayn suddenly says. Niall coughs up a laugh and smacks Zayn’s thigh. “Honestly though, he’s so bloody… timid. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose type, y’know? Like I wanna put me phone on silent in case it goes off and ‘e dies of shock or something.”

Niall actually wheezes, clutching his side as mixture of silent laughter and fragrant smoke escapes his lips. “Stop it, you’re gonna kill me,”

“I mean, Ed was hardly Mr Sociable but this one… I dunno man,”

“You’re a bit weird too, Mal, you’ll probably find a lifelong friend in ‘im,” Niall pokes his tongue out cheekily.

“Shut it, Ni, you tit.” Zayn says but he considers for a moment whether they all thought that, or whether it’s exclusively Niall. “He’ll be ‘ome soon, shut up man.”

“What time are The Grownups getting here then?” Niall chuckles lazily as he sucks in a lungful of aromatic smoke and exhales thoughtfully.

“You mean Liam and Louis?” Zayn asks incredulously, clearly amused at the thought of classing Louis as a grownup. “I guess they’re comin’ straight from work. Six-ish?”

“A solid six-seven hours of drinking then! They won’t know what hit ‘em!”

 

***

 

The day is not actually too bad. The pipe cleaner yoghurt pot project goes down a storm and with minimal disaster. His phone on silent on his desk lights up three times in a row with general harassment and abuse from Niall. The sunshine continues long into the afternoon, making his trip home from work slightly less awful than any other day.

_‘On my way, get the kettle on xx’_

_‘And by kettle I mean beer. Thanks xx’_

 

***

 

When Harry arrives home, there’s a bleary eyed blonde haired man sat cross legged on the sofa furiously hammering at his PS4 controller, shrieking and yelling at the screen as Zayn does pretty much the same thing.

“Hi,” Harry announces his arrival timidly, the game suddenly paused and silence ensuing.

“Oh alright mate!” Zayn appears surprised to see him, for some reason. “Ni, this is Harry, Harry, me mate Niall.”

“Hello mate!” Niall salutes him with a Pringle and turns back to the screen. “C’mon, Mal, game on.”

“Make yourself at home, mate, we’re just chilling here if you wanna join? Or not, your choice.”

Harry nods sagely and creeps past them to his bedroom, shutting the door gently. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t quite prepared for a social gathering in the living room on his first day, but his sister’s insistence that he must be normal and sociable and friendly rings true in his ears. He draws the curtains across, even though they are one floor up and not overlooked, and changes out of his work stuff into a black and navy checked shirt and black skinny jeans.

He falters at the door with his hand on the handle, but pulls it down decisively and makes the short journey from his room to the living room.

 

To be entirely fair, they make him feel very welcome and comfortable very quickly. Niall teases and japes with a thick Irish accent that Harry notes he must delve into deeper later on, find out what part of Ireland he’s from.

Before long, the buzzer shrieks and Zayn lumbers to the door in a fit of giggles. “C’mon up, Leeham!”

This new face, Liam, looks decidedly more sallow-skinned and exhausted than the chirpy Irishman. He looks nice enough though, well presented in a pressed shirt with a weary end-of-the-day film to his eyes that suggests he’s come straight from work.

“Lame-o, this is Harry.” Zayn points him out as he slaps the newcomer on the back affectionately.

“It’s Liam,” He corrects with a tired yet fond stare in Zayn’s direction as he extends a hand to Harry politely.

Zayn settles back in with the bag of orange Doritos in his lap. He and Niall quickly launch back into a conversation that Harry knows neither the context nor the characters of.

Harry stiffens up but tells himself to relax as Liam sinks down on the sofa next to him, beer in hand. He sips his drink slowly, thinking about the £3.20 the bus from work cost and whether or not he could actually afford it, when he looks up to see Liam looking at him expectantly.

“Oh sorry, miles away…”

“No worries, was just asking how you’re settling in?”

“Oh, yeah good thanks,” Great, now he looks like an airhead. “It’s a nice place, better than where I was before.”

“Where did you live before?” Zayn asks as he sips.

A quick memory burst takes Harry back to the damp walls, screaming rows between strangers and the semi-frequent electricity outages. Before, he hadn’t known places like that actually existed in real life, places where you locked the door the second you got inside, places where seeing someone stagger out into the gutter clutching a stab wound and a wrap of coke wasn’t unusual; police sirens and blue lights keeping you up at night. “Uh, I rented a room with a couple of… people,”

Liam’s quizzical little face is reflected back at him, and he knows that if he doesn’t keep his answer short and sweet he’ll open his mouth again and a river of nonsensical, entirely inappropriate chatter will spill out. “So it’ll be quieter with just Zayn then,”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry says flatly but he remembers his friendly smile and Liam beams back at him. Harry can’t help but notice the downward tug on the corners of Liam’s eyes; he looks like he carries the weight of the world on his broad shoulders but he’s pressing for more and more information on Harry; he seems to be genuinely friendly.

“You’re a fan of Ed aren’t you?” Zayn announces, continuing before he has a chance to confirm. “Once ‘e heard that, ‘e was begging me to let ‘im have the room!”

Harry feels himself go scarlet as the three of them chuckle at his expense, though there’s no malice there. They are obviously used to having a semi-famous friend and everything that entails. “Make me sound like an obsessive 14 year old fan of a boy band!”

Zayn chortles raucously, the most alive Harry has seen him so far in their fledgling co-habitation. “Don’t worry, we’re used to it!” He says, confirming Harry’s assumptions. “You ain’t the first and you won’t be the last,”

“Well, thanks I guess…” Harry picks his beer up again although it’s mainly just froth clinging to the insides of the bottle at this point.

“Aw Mally, you’ve embarrassed the poor lad!” Niall hoots, hammering a fist on the coffee table unexpectedly. Zayn laughs again as Harry flinches in his seat, but throws a welcoming arm in the air and declares it time for another drink.

 

***

 

The festivities are apparently already in full swing by the time Louis arrives, using his own key despite the fact it is neither an emergency nor any other previously agreed on situation where he would be allowed to barge in.

“I have arrived!” He hollers, throwing the door open vigorously.

A meek cheer led by Niall rings around the room, and he’s out of his coat and in the kitchen getting a beer. “Thanks, boys.”

He disappears again, popping up again a few minutes later with an armful of clothing and different attire to that he had arrived in.

“Are you wearing my trackies?” Zayn eyes him carefully, taking in the excess material bunched around Louis’ ankles.

“So what if I am? Share and share alike, Mal.”

“You’re unbelievable, Tommo.” Niall shakes his head with a proud grin as Louis pulls up his trouser legs and settles down on the arm of the sofa. He calls across the room to Harry, “Haz, this is Louis! Life and soul, as you can see.”

“Hiya, sorry, yes I’m Louis.” He slows down to a gallop as he takes in the illustrious Harry sitting next to Liam. He leans over Liam shamelessly to hold out his hand.

Harry shakes his hand dutifully and smiles. Shitting hell, Louis isn’t one to notice things like eye colour, but these olive green orbs are unmissable; almost neon in the way that they shine. His dark brown hair sits atop his head in a messy bun, little tufts of baby hair spilling out around his hair line.

“Nice bun,” Louis says softly, sincerely but sounding a bit sarcastic. Harry’s hands fly up into his hair and he stammers something illegible. “I’m not takin’ the piss!”

“In spite of his excellent grammatical and interpersonal skills, Louis is a teacher by trade.” Liam chips in, cogs clearly whirring in his head.

Harry nods interestedly and Louis learns very quickly that he is the type that really engages into conversation, asks questions instead of just nodding in response, and actually seems to care about the answer. In half an hour and with three beers to Harry’s one, Louis has explained – in brief – his university level escapades, his training placements and his first two years teaching at the primary school.

“Another drink, Haz?” Niall shouts across from the kitchen. Harry peers down at his empty bottle almost in fear, before finally accepting another drink.

“Get me one darling!” Louis tips his head back and shouts to Niall, smiling broadly as he walks over with a comedic frown on his face.

 

Louis is suitably drunk when the Dominos arrives just before 10pm. Again, he’s had no food since a Tikka wrap at lunch time, and is empty enough that the alcohol has soaked right through him to his blood. He’s running on delirious, intoxicating fumes at this point, the edges of the flat fuzzy and sounds muffled. Everyone around him is relaxed and carefree and mostly _loud,_ except little old Harry who sits pushed into the corner of the sofa contently with a pizza slice precariously in his hands. His one empty bottle still sits alone on the coffee table, his current beverage held between his knees. He’s rolled his sleeves up on his shirt to reveal a few little doodle-type tattoos on his wrist that Louis must admit he was not expecting.

Once he returns from a contemplative trip to the bathroom, Niall has squeezed himself stupidly in between Harry and Liam, leaving him a space next to Zayn. He leans forward to the depleting pizza, five slices already gone.

“Horan, is this your doing?” He accuses, staring across at Niall who, as suspected, is cradling _two_ slices of pizza, sandwiching them together in a DIY calzone. “Shit me, some of us haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“Not my problem, Tommo!” Niall says with a mouthful. Louis proceeds to flip him off then grab a slice before it’s all gone.

He consumes, in the following two and a half hours, four more beers and a handful of Doritos that are mostly crumb at this stage. Though he is not 100% aware when he’s chaperoned down to he and Liam’s waiting taxi (Sophia’s VW Golf), he sees Harry disappearing into his bedroom, his hair now tumbling out of his bun and cascading around his shoulders.

“Harry’s nice, isn’t he?” He muses once he’s bundled into the back seat, staring out of the fogged up glass.

Liam doesn’t reply, he himself sat slumped in the front pressing the electric window button, up, down, up, down.

“Li, stop babe, its cold.” Sophia says softly. Louis takes note of her large fluffy scarf and thick jumper, reasoning with himself that it’s not really that cold and Sophia must just be a wimp. He shouldn’t say anything though as she is taking him home, which is very kind.

He sighs unintentionally loudly in the back. Sophia eyes him in the rear view mirror, but he doesn’t see that. All he can see is green. Olives, grass, leaves on a tree, American dollar bills... green everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three!
> 
> Baker Harry features heavily in this chapter! Also, Louis struggles with miscommunication between his head and his… well, his trouser area.
> 
> Enjoy!

Zayn awakes with a start the next morning, vaguely aware of the front door closing. He leaps out of bed automatically, limbs crooked with sleep as he staggers out of his room into the hallway. He’s only been asleep about an hour, what the hell is going on? The flat is standstill silent, nothing out of place and nothing untoward. He makes his way unsteadily through to the kitchen and peers down to the street below. There is Harry, making his way down the steps and across the street dressed in black trousers and an unsightly baggy hoodie obscuring whatever else he had on, his hair tied back into his unglamorous bun.

Peering bleary eyed at the digital clock on the oven, it’s only 4.45am, what the fuck? It’s not even properly light out yet. Where is he going at this time of the morning? Saturday morning no less. Is he bloody leaving or something?

Without stopping to think properly, Zayn creeps across the hallway and pushes Harry’s door open tentatively. Inside, it’s largely unchanged from how Ed had left it, empty and clinical feeling. The plastic wrapping of the new duvet cover is balled up on the floor; £5.99. The plain beige covers are scratchy and rough as Zayn runs his fingertips across the corner. A phone charger is plugged in but switched off in the corner, scuffed black Converse sit neatly under the window and a rucksack is dumped sadly in the corner. He cautiously opens the wardrobe door to see three pairs of jeans, an assortment of checked shirts draped over plain black and white t-shirts hanging at one end, the rest of the vast space unfilled.

Harry comes home just before midday; most of his hair fallen from his bun and limp brown curls cascading everywhere. He hangs his rucksack on a hook in the porch and reveals himself to be covered in what appears to be flour or icing sugar maybe?

“Where’ve you been, man? I saw you go out before five this morning.”

“Sorry, I tried not to be too loud,”

“You weren’t,” Zayn interjects firmly. “I was just surprised, didn’t know there _were_ two five o’ clocks in a day.”

Harry’s taut features soften and he lets out a cute little giggle. “Sorry, I never said. I work in a bakery. I do the early shift, make the bread, then stay on for an hour or so to help with the breakfast rush and prep for lunch.”

“Oh nice one,” Zayn nods, considering this might be the most words Harry has used in one go before. “You can cook then?”

“Well, bread, cakes, biscuits… they’re my kinda thing.”

“Pastries?”

“Yeah!”

Zayn’s eyes widen and he dazzles a cunning, plotting grin.

 

***

 

Saturday afternoon staggering down the aisles of Tesco hungover is hardly Louis’ idea of fun; he doubts anyone would be envious of him right now. He piles bread, a carton of orange juice, bananas, cheese and a strawberry milkshake into his basket, the wire contraption jarring uncomfortably against his hip with each step.

He sniggers to himself as he passes the ‘strong Italian’ coffee pouches, deciding he himself could do with a strong Italian of the human kind, as well as the caffeinated kind. The bright green ‘decaf’ labels on the coffee pouches trigger memories of Harry in his mind immediately. What? He thought about the innocent serenity in which Harry held himself, amplified by the drunken, boisterous idiots around him. Nevertheless, he picks up his usual teabags and heads across the aisles to the chocolate. Sod it, he’s treating himself.

Turning next down the frozen food aisle to grab a pizza, the Harry Ramsden’s frozen fish catches his eye and he’s thinking about Harry again. Sighing wistfully, he shakes away his thoughts and focusses on pizza and pizza only.

*

By Monday morning, Louis’ finally feeling better; a full 48 hours and then some to recover are seemingly what it takes now he’s knocking on thirty. Urgh, perish the thought. He shudders at the reminder that he’s in the last year of his twenties and marches promptly past Costa into Greggs, swiping the card of his rapidly depleting bank account in exchange for a steaming, sugary beverage and triple chocolate chip muffin, because it’s Monday. Muffin Monday, you could say. Yes, maybe that should be his new thing.

The second part of his bus journey was better than the first, the buses must be running out of sync because the normally bustling stop is deserted and only two other passengers join him before departure. With headphones in and tired head resting against the cool pane of precipitation-mottled glass, he closes his eyes only to be interrupted by the vibration of his phone against this thigh moments later.

With a heavy sigh, Louis ominously peers down at the black screen, illuminating it cautiously. With a roll of his eyes and an annoyance that he perhaps doesn’t deserve, Louis reads the message once before locking and pocketing his phone.

_‘Hey, had a great night last week, you up for a few drinks tonight? Dan xx’_

*

It isn’t until the next day and his fantasy football app buzzes through an update via the school’s Wi-Fi does Louis remember Daniel’s text still sitting unreplied to in his inbox.

Gingerly, he opens his Messages and taps Daniel’s thread. Well, did he want to meet for a drink? There’s a loaded question. He really has two options here; go for the drink and potentially make a couple of uninformed choices that he will no doubt regret, or bin off Daniel’s invitation and spend another night at home in the company of his three fish, a microwave meal and a repeat of 8 Out Of 10 Cats. The former would be the less sad option, but it probably isn’t the best idea either.

In a state of indecisiveness, he stares down at the pixels, glaring until they start to jumble on the screen.

  
_'Sure thing, bring condoms and lube xxx’_  
Definitely not.

 _'Hey_ _J_ _loads of work to mark tonight so maybe another time? Sorry x’_  
Yes. Perfect.

 _‘Yea sure, where and when? X’_  
Shit.

So, after a day spent willing time to go slower for once in his life, Louis stays on the bus two stops longer than usual, bound for the address Daniel had texted to him. The extra three or four minutes on his journey was long enough for him to conclude this was definitely not going to end well, but it wasn’t enough to actually stop him getting off the bus, walking up to the door and ringing the doorbell three times.  
“Hey!” Daniel enthuses as he opens the door, his award winning smile guilting Louis into smiling fondly back.

“Sorry I didn’t get back t’ya straight away, y’know how it is.”

“It‘s alright,” Daniel says sweetly as Louis steps over the threshold. Cream carpet stretches into what appears to be the kitchen and up the stairs and he’s hit straight in the face with overpowering but not entirely off-putting vanilla air freshener. “Nice place,”

“It‘s alright, isn’t it? Mum and dad are away until the weekend, so even better!” Daniel beams with enthusiasm that wouldn’t be out of place on the face of one of Louis’ five year olds.

“Oh right!” Louis exclaims in surprise, instantly hoping his surprise isn’t as evident to Daniel as it sounded in his own head. “Nice one.”

“Yeah! Anyway, come in, what would you like to drink? I‘ve got beer, cider, Bailey‘s, Pinot‘s Noir and Grigio?”

“Oh, just a beer thanks, it‘s a school night after all!” Louis quips, and although Daniel looks momentarily confused he soon guffaws and scuttles off to the kitchen to fetch the drinks.

Louis peers gingerly around the room; it is very nice and very homely. He is massively aware that this grown-ass man still lives with his parents though, and it’s evident from the set up here. Pictures of a nice enough looking silver haired and tanned couple, presumably on an exotic holiday somewhere, are propped up on the mantle, a younger, floppier haired version of Daniel in a school jumper is framed pride of place in the middle amongst little glass dishes of decorative sand and votive candles. The syrupy sweet aroma of the hallway is replaced by a florally sweet mix, and a vigorously polished mirror reflects his sceptical old face back at him.

“Hi, sorry, I‘m back!” Daniel bobs back round the door with a bottled Budweiser in each hand. He motions for Louis to sit down, brandishing the bottle around but amazingly not spilling any on the plush cream carpet.

“Thank you, too kind.” Louis accepts the beer and takes a large swig.

“Thirsty!” Daniel says loudly, possibly with the slight accent of a question, Louis can’t be sure.

They carry on similarly to how they had on their first date. Not that this is a second date, of course. No. Daniel is marginally less wooden and dull in a familiar environment, but the awkward silences that were filled with background chatter and merriment in the bar are screamingly obvious in the serenity of Daniel’s parents’ front room.

They cover (or, in some cases, re-cover) university, Louis’ job, interests, coming out stories and musical preferences over the course of three beers each. The stilted conversation flows easier with each passing drink, naturally. He tries to keep calm and focussed as slowly but surely Daniel starts trying to make his move, it starts with a brush of their knees together as Louis sits, probably a bit too leisurely, with one leg hooked under the other. As he’s talking, Daniel pats his knee briefly, and lastly he shuffles forward and leans in as he does it.

With the now empty beer bottle still in his hand, Daniel edges closer and places his lips atop Louis’ softly. It’s such a subtle, gentle non-kiss that Louis almost misses it. It intensifies on the second go around and in one swift motion Daniel has the bottle out of Louis’ hand and on the coffee table and is astride Louis’ legs with his hands slotted into his hair firmly. They massage their lips together intensely before Louis opens up to welcome in Daniel’s tongue.  He licks into his mouth and they quickly settle up a harmonious rhythm between the two muscles. He pulls slightly at Louis’ hair as he goes, Louis quite surprised and unprepared to actually quite enjoy such an act. There is clearly a large discrepancy between Daniel’s social personality and his sexual personality.

As his brain catches up to his cock and he realises what’s happening, he tries to protest but his efforts are pushed down with misguided enthusiastic moans and utters from Daniel. His first three shirt buttons are undone before Daniel tears away and begins trailing heated kisses over his jaw line and down the firm column of his neck.

“D-Dan...”

“Shhh babe…” Daniel stops unbuttoning to press a finger to Louis’ lips, and if that isn’t excruciatingly and unexpectedly sexy than Louis doesn’t know what is. He nudges his finger slightly between Louis’ lips and moans softly against the exposed skin of Louis’ chest, his tongue tracing little patterns between insistent kisses. With a roll of his eyes and a painful knot of self-loathing in his chest, Louis takes his finger into his mouth and swirls his tongue around before sucking around it firmly. Louis wonders what the hell he is _doing_ , honestly, how did he end up here?

Daniel continues his vocal appreciation of Louis’ efforts for some time, spending a moment returning the favour on both of his nipples, before withdrawing his finger abruptly and trailing it down Louis’ body between his pecs to the waistline of his black dress trousers.  
In a moment the button is popped, zipper is down and with a hasty bum shuffle his trousers and black Emporio Armani’s are around his knees, his cock standing to attention dutifully in all its glory.

Dan mutters something probably complimentary that Louis loses in his pre-blow job haze. He runs his hands firstly up the inside of his thighs, taking him in his hand and pumping a few lazy pumps to Louis’ already solid cock. Without warning he rocks forward and closes his mouth around Louis with absolute skill and determination that in the heat of the moment Louis really can’t fault.

Daniel uses one hand to stabilise him at the base and the other hand digs roughly into Louis’ thigh as he tries in vain not to buck up with every swirl of the tongue and every pulsating series of sucks.

“Fuck… oh God. Shit…” He stutters nonsensically as Daniel opens his mouth wide at the head and works his way back down the length with his tongue out and working.

His senses momentarily black out as he shoots into the back of Daniel’s throat, his murmurs and satisfied chuckle sending killer vibrations down Louis’ cock as it continues to blurt.

“Good babe?” Daniel asks with an unrecognisable smugness as he pops off the tip with a terrible slurping noise.

“Yeah…” Louis pants as Daniel gets to his feet and falls into place next to him on the couch, resting his head familiarly on Louis’ shoulder. Despite his better judgement and rapidly clearing head, he accepts Daniel’s kiss; the taste of himself on his tongue not nearly as sexy as Daniel probably thinks, but he can’t very well escape now.

“I… uh, I‘ve still…” He murmurs into Daniel’s mouth, trying to end their union.

“What babe?” Daniel whispers too, separating their lips but nuzzling into his cheek.

“I‘ve still got me cock out.” Louis says bluntly, the other boy bursting into laughter immediately and any sexual tension dissolving.

“Shit! Sorry!” Daniel chuckles, peering down at Louis’ hands cupping his softening cock. “Bathroom is top of the stairs, sorry.”

“Okay, gimme a min?” Louis shuffles off the sofa using only his leg muscles to haul himself up, and waddles awkwardly to the stairs with his messy cock uncomfortable in his boxers and trousers held up by his hand only.

In the bathroom - seashell wall tiles, neatly organised bottles of bubble bath and matching burnt orange hand towel and bath mat - he looks disappointedly back at his sorry self. With a clean-up and a splash of water to his face he feels slightly better. He buttons his shirt back up, misaligned on the first attempt, and jogs awkwardly down the stairs to join Daniel again.

He declines another beer, eyeing the time on the DVD player showing 8.45, but downs a cup of too-milky tea before its really cool enough to drink.

“Well, thanks…?” He begins awkwardly, wondering if it’s appropriate to say thank you for a blow job. “I‘d better be getting going though, y‘understand?”

“Of course.” Daniel accepts graciously, helping him unnecessarily to get his bag and slip his black Superdry jacket on.

“Thanks for stopping by, it was great t‘see you again.”

“You too.” Louis smiles sweetly. _Liar._

They shuffle side by side awkwardly to the door, stopping on the door step to say yet another goodbye. Once again, Louis finds himself leaning in for another bloody kiss. His breath is still slightly aromatic and Louis’ breath hitches as their lips meet. “Bye, Daniel.”

“See you, Louis!” Daniel calls back as Louis darts off the step and across the street, not looking back to see Daniel watch him leave.  
  


***

  
Louis hauls himself up onto one of Liam and Sophia’s spinning breakfast bar stools and gathers his hands miserably in his lap, his forlorn expression maybe a little bit put on. His Wednesday has been a disaster from start to finish; the coffee machine at Greggs was knackered so he _had_ to splash out on Costa, the cherubic angel Payton spilled a whole tube of purple glitter paint on the classroom floor, then he had to stand up on the first bus home.

“What have you done now?” Sophia peers in at him, her natural caring and motherly ability warming Louis instantly. She rakes a hand through her glossy brunette locks, wafting sweet coconutty fragrance into the air.

“I’ve been stupid again, Soph.”

Liam, who has shuffled himself onto the kitchen countertop, scoffs. Louis sends him a look before going back to his natural moping stance.

“Liam!” Sophia warns him, brushing a soft touch over Louis’ clasped fists; her beautiful wedding rings as perfect and shining today as they were five years ago. “Is it really so bad? You’re young-” She pauses as Liam snorts again, “ _and_ you’re single, most importantly. There’s not actually anything wrong with what you’re doing, love.”

“Why does it feel like it then?” Louis says quietly, Liam remaining silent this time.

“This guy, what’s his name, Dean?”

“Dan,” Louis sighs, the name hurting his chest.

“Li, put the kettle on babe?” Sophia instructs, sliding her empty mug across the breakfast bar to Liam. She turns back to Louis, “He coming on a bit strong?”

“Well, no…” Louis says shyly. “I met him again Tuesday. Things… happened, y’know? I’ve given him completely the wrong idea I‘m sure. He’s been texting me non-stop yesterday an’ today…”

“You replied?”

“No,” Louis says sheepishly. “Not yet. But I know I will. I‘m not interested but like… there’s this miscommunication between me and, well _me_. This is going nowhere but now he thinks it’s going somewhere and… oh fuck, what should I do? Help me?”

“Tell ‘im you’re straight.” Liam suggests stupidly, his back turned as he waits for the kettle to boil.

“Um, he _clearly_ wouldn’t believe that, Lame-o. Sorry, Soph.” Louis tilts his head to the side and smiles softly at the woman.

“If he’s as dim as you say he is he probably wouldn’t notice.”

“Liam, stop it!” Sophia says curtly as Louis shakes his head. Honestly, where did he get Liam from?

“You could just tell him the truth?” Sophia says slowly, smiling apologetically as the pained expression on Louis’ face intensifies.

“That’s a bit harsh, you can’t exactly tell him you think he’s a twat with the personality of a soggy bath towel.” Liam quips as the kettle rattles and whistles to a boil.

“Obviously not, but there’s no need to lie. You can tell the truth without being an arse about it.”

“Can’t you do it for me?” Louis whines, throwing his hands up over his face dramatically. He doesn’t want to hurt Drippy Dan’s feelings, but part of him, an awful, sinful, debaucherous part of him doesn’t want to dismiss a sure thing because he’s trying to be a mature adult for once.

“Look, Lou, all I can say is do what makes you happy. If you aren’t interested in him, tell him. I don’t suppose for one minute you will take my advice, but there it is.”

 

***

 

It’s still dark outside behind his curtains as Harry pads around his bedroom on Friday morning with only the light from his phone screen to guide him. The flat is completely silent, as is the street down below. One solitary car chugs past in the twenty minutes it takes Harry to get ready. At 4.40am, he creeps out of his bedroom, fully dressed in his work uniform and his scuffed black leather bomber jacket. He kicks Zayn’s boots out the way of the door fondly and tries to ignore the faint smell of smoke that coats the walls and furniture.

He still hasn’t got used to the shorter journey to work now he lives closer, so when he turns up at the bakery at 4.55am, the place is in total darkness and Ellen is nowhere to be seen. With a wave of important authority he lets himself in via the back entrance, quickly punching in the security code – C4K35 – before the alarm self-destructs and starts screaming at him. The ceiling lights flicker into life as he makes his way across the silent kitchen to his work station. the metal splash backs and surfaces all around the room show trails from where they’d been wiped down at the end of yesterday, the smell of disinfectant burning his nose.

Once he’s fired up the bread ovens and set the timers on the miscellaneous ovens, he pulls down his precious Mason Cash mixing bowl from the top shelf, a stack of cupcake cases falling on his head. He twirls across to the walk in fridge, propping the door open with the heavy bucket of metal spoons and ladles, not fancying getting stuck inside with no-one there to rescue him.

Once out of the ice box, two slabs of proved bread dough wrapped in film in his arms, he crouches down under the unit to grab the plain and self-raising flours and sugar buckets. He peers at the laminated card magnetized to the wall. Double chunk brownies, gingerbread ducks (with enough yellow icing to put the sun out of business) and cupcakes that he has been given free rein on the decorating of, are the specials for the day. He mentally assesses the list for a moment, trying to plan the best course of action. The brownies will take the most effort but the cupcakes and gingerbread will need time to cool before they can be decorated. He’ll need to do three trays of brownies to cover the afternoon rush – experience tells him that they sell out fast. He roughly eyeballs enough sugar and self-raising flour for 24 cupcakes, then sets about chopping blocks of milk and dark chocolate into chunks for the brownies.

By the time Ellen bustles in at getting on for ten past five, an apologetic look on her kind features, the smell of ginger tickles the air and a mixing bowl full of bright yellow sugar icing sits on the sill waiting to be piped onto the gingerbread ducks.

“Hello, love, sorry I’m late, had to do all the cat trays and let the dog out!” She chatters endlessly as Harry slaps out the formed dough onto his chopping board. With his plastic wedge he divides the mixture into three and sets about getting them in their tins.

“It’s okay, I’ve got most of the specials for today started. Bread is just going in!” Harry sing-songs as he pushes the smaller oven door closed with his hip and peers in at the loaves through the darkened glass of the bread oven.

Its approaching 6am when the first tray of brownies and the gingerbreads come out, quickly replaced with a second batch. Raw cake mix sits in pretty red and white spotty cases, ready to go in after. He’s planned out the cupcakes very carefully, thinking about it until he fell asleep the night before. The whole affair will include strawberry flavoured buttercream and red, white and pink sugar strand decorations. Maybe even a dusting of edible silver glitter.

By 6.45am the first lot of gingerbreads are cooled and the second lot are just coming out. Miraculously he only loses one due to an unfortunate accident getting them off the baking tray. He sets the crumbling pieces aside to nibble on throughout the morning. He’s vaguely aware of the constant tapping of Ellen slicing the already made loaves, half will be for sale and the other half will be used for sandwiches at lunchtime. He glugs icing into the piping bag with minimal spillage and stoops over the counter; concentrating immensely so as to not mess up the decoration. His head bobs back and forth as he refers back to the practice duck he iced earlier; he traces a neat and steady line of yellow around the perimeter of the biscuits, crafting out a feathered wing with criss-cross icing before squeezing a tiny blob of icing onto each eye to use as adhesive for the fondant googly eyes he’d ordered on a whim from the supplier, whistling nonchalantly the entire time.

Just shy of one hour later, springtime sunshine spills through the windows and his gingerbread ducks are done.

“Beautiful, they are love. You clever old thing, you.” Ellen beams, sneaking up behind him and reaching up to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. Ellen is 68 years old and not a hairs breadth taller than five foot; she lives in the countryside and spends all her time outdoors running after animals and grandchildren, and is kind of like the third grandma in Harry’s life. Since they started working together four and a half years ago, he’s grown and developed and gone to regional bakery shows and contests that he probably would never have had the guts to do without Ellen beside him.

“Thanks, El. They’ve turned out well, I must say.”

“They’ll go quackers for them!” Ellen quips, squeezing his bicep as she trundles back over to her bread. Harry chuckles heartily, always appreciative of a good pun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please kudos if you enjoyed. Thank you!
> 
>  
> 
> Inspiration for Harry’s gingerbread ducks: http://www.dreamstime.com/royalty-free-stock-photography-gingerbread-duck-image13146427 (credit to the creator)
> 
> Harry’s Mason Cash mixing bowl: http://www.lakeland.co.uk/16547/Mason-Cash-Heritage-Mixing-Bowl


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mild drug references, alcohol consumption and possible trigger warning for infertility and miscarriage (brief mention only).

“What the…?” Zayn utters under his breath. Laid out on the coffee table is a stack of board games in well-worn boxes; scuffed edges and faded illustrations. Monopoly, Scrabble, Cluedo, Guess Who and Operation. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies a potted fern perched on the window sill, its lush green fronds spurting out and trailing down, vibrant and striking against the peeling white paint of the sill.

Harry appears in the door way wearing grey shorts and a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled over. “Oh hi, sorry about the mess! I popped in to the charity shop opposite work. These were all £2.50 each, can you believe it?”

“Board games?” Zayn asks sceptically.

“Yeah, I just couldn’t resist!” Harry exudes, his enthusiasm never waiving.

Zayn chuckles at that, noting another little snippet of Harry’s eccentric personality. “Nice pot plant.”

“It’s a Boston fern. That’s not from the charity shop, it’s from Tesco. Thought it was nice?” He sounds so unsure of himself again.

“It _is_ nice,” Zayn affirms, trying not to sound condescending in his attempts to reassure Harry. “Gives the place… life.”

Harry just nods and smiles, wandering silently over to the kitchen as Zayn hauls his rucksack over the back of the sofa and cautiously kicks his illicit Tupperware under the sofa, although he’s sure he’s already incriminated himself, though Harry’s probably too polite to ever say anything.

“Good morning at work?”

“You’re wondering if I’ve brought any goodies home with me?” He says with a smirk.

Zayn full out guffaws, “Am I that obvious?”

“No, you’re a good actor.” Harry continues to smile warmly as he dips into the fridge and pulls out a white and blue striped paper bag that Zayn has come to recognise and love. “But as it goes, yes, I did manage to grab these.”

Zayn reaches out to grab the bag Harry is passing him. He peers inside the bag to see four scones. Two he can identify as cheese and bacon, and one of them looks like it might contain a herb of some description.

“Two cheese and bacon, one chive and onion and just plain. I was eyeing the chocolate chip ones all morning but they sold like… well, like hot cakes!” Harry indulges his own joke and Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Good one. I’ll take this one, thanks,” Zayn says, selecting the plain one. “Pass us the jam, will ya?”

*

Harry hadn’t meant to fall asleep. As he slowly comes too, the warm sunshine that had been so high in the sky earlier on was just sinking below the sloping roofs of the buildings opposite. He feels terribly nostalgic and disorientated for a few moments as he wakes up to the final few bars of _Don’t Dream It’s Over_ by Crowded House. For a brief moment, he’s just a lad again, living at home with a complete family; mum, dad and annoying big sister. It takes a while to shake himself out of his reverie, finally shutting off the music spilling quietly out of his phone speaker.

His mouth is all dry and he’s suddenly dying for a drink. He pushes himself off the bed onto his newborn giraffe legs, his bones hissing and sighing as he staggers to the door.

“Alright mate!” Zayn calls enthusiastically from the kitchen as Harry stumbles wearily into the front room. He must look a sight in his grey shorts, bare feet and shirtless since his nap, but since when was March so bloody warm?

“Hi, sorry, I fell asleep.”

“No worries. I poked me ‘ead round the door t’see if you wanted a sarnie but, you looked so peaceful I dint want t’wake yous.” Zayn says, his accent ramped up to full exposure for some reason. He lets out a giggle and peers down at Harry’s feet.

Harry shifts uncomfortably until Zayn points and says, “Never gonna dance again? What’s that all about?”

“Oh, uh, nothing just a stupid mistake tattoo,” Harry peers down at the ‘ _never gonna’_ and ‘ _dance again’_ tattoos on his feet.

“You don’t seem the type to make stupid mistakes,” Zayn says honestly.

“I wish I weren’t.” Harry says, continuing to indulge Zayn in his apparent belief that he can’t see or smell the joint resting in an ashtray on the chair propping open the kitchen door. He grabs a glass from the cupboard, the layout of the kitchen almost completely etched into his memory now, and fills it from the tap.

“The lads are coming round later,” Zayn says, inching his way rather unsubtly over to the door, trying to bat the smoke away though his efforts are in vain.

“Oh right, well I won’t be in the way.”

“Don’t be stupid man, you’re welcome to join in.”

“Well, I don’t wanna impinge on lad’s night,” Harry says, wondering if ‘ _lad’s night’_ is the correct term.

Zayn’s features give way to a small grin, either at _‘impinge’_ or _‘lad’s night’_ , and Harry cringes internally. “Not at all. Liam really likes ya. Well, they all do I’m sure.”

*

“Styles?” Niall asks with his eyebrows raised. “Harry Styles?”

“Yeah, stupid name right?” Harry says, his cheeks rapidly reddening by the millisecond.

They’ve been here less than half an hour, and Niall is already pretty drunk. It hasn’t taken Harry long to realise that Niall is a drinker. A big drinker. Zayn seems to adopt a stealthy, mysterious disposition. Drinks with the boys seems very important to both Liam and Louis, they share fond looks and indulge the others in their nonsensical ramblings whilst at the same time bowing their heads together and chatting about their respective weeks; work, home and everything in between that Harry doesn’t feel he should be privy to yet.

“That’s a bloody rock star name, mate!” Niall shouts joyously, suspending his bottle in mid-air for Harry to match.

“I used to get called The Hairdresser in school.” Harry admits as his and Niall’s bottles clink together, the Irishman all smiley and warm.

Liam and Niall gaze blankly back at him, momentary silence before Louis claps his hands together and let out a shrill laugh. “I get it! Harry Styles. Hairy Styles, hair styles. Very clever.”

They all erupt into raucous laughter again, Harry shaking his head in despair though he can’t help but to laugh too. That second beer has really helped loosen him up.

“Kids can be cruel.” Louis says, grimacing knowingly. Harry nods sagely and Louis leans over and smoothes a hand over his knee, smiling reassuringly. Blue and green meet for a split second and Harry forgets where he is and what his name is. As quickly as they meet, Louis is looking away again, smiling tipsily down at the bottle in his hand.

*

Zayn appears with five bottles of Budweiser tucked between his abdomen and his arm; he flings the bottle opener at Niall and releases the takeaway menus he has clamped between his teeth into Liam’s lap. “You, oh Sensible One, pick us somethin’ delicious.”

“I’m not Sensible, surely that’s Harry?” Liam moans, Harry throwing up his hands in protest.

“I’m new, I can’t handle that kind of responsibility!”

Louis chuckles perhaps the loudest out of the entire group as he leans forward to pluck one of the menus from Liam’s grasp.

Between them, they manage to get together their order, verifying it with Harry like he’s their leader or something. Zayn dials the order in, repeating it back to the person on the other end slowly and clearly several times. He’s silent for a few minutes, before pulling a face and pressing the speaker of the phone against his chest, “Gotta spend over £30 to get it delivered.”

“Thirty quid? Jesus wept, what a fuckin’ cheek!” Niall explodes, though he hastily picks up the menu and starts looking for more food to add to their order.

*

The cartons of delicious smelling sustenance barely fit onto the coffee table, an extra-long tray of noodles hanging precariously half over the edge.

Niall sends Harry into the kitchen to get the forks; his instructions very concise and specific about regular forks for eating and larger forks for serving. harry suspects Niall takes this kind of thing Very Seriously.

Zayn and Niall have squeezed their way onto the sofa next to him, with Liam and Louis taking up the sofa opposite them. Harry knows how stupid it is to miss Louis’ presence; he’s two feet across from him, but he does anyway. What is all that about?

With their plates balanced quite unsteadily on their knees, they tuck into a veritable feast of different flavours. Niall has topped his plate high with deep fried chicken, sickly pink sauce and a messy mound of noodles that he devours; the other three much more dignified in their efforts. He watches – discretely, mind – Louis. He eats slowly and his plate isn’t even half full. He takes a sip of water between every mouthful, tucking himself in behind Liam as if to protect himself almost.

He looks down at the rapidly-diminishing cartons of food, a lot of the dishes unrecognisable to him despite his culinary background. The settled silence that descends upon the flat whilst they all feed their faces is comical to Harry, cutlery scraping on plates and Niall burping sporadically against the bassy dance music trickling out of the TV.

After they’ve eaten, Niall whispers rather unsubtly into Zayn’s ear that he wants to go for a smoke. He nudges his foot against the Tupperware stashed under the coffee table, grinning wildly. Zayn looks over at Harry with an almost pained expression, the other two laughing outright at their friend.

“Zayn, you do _not_ need to ask me permission. I’m not your dad, if you wanna smoke you smoke, it’s fine!” Harry says firmly and loudly, Louis grinning like a Cheshire cat to his left.

Niall thumps Zayn on the bicep and the three of them depart to the balcony. Louis vaults energetically over the coffee table and sits back down in his previous seat next to Harry.

“I’m surprised at Liam, I must admit.” Harry says on an out-breath.

Louis nods, face comically solemn. “You’d never catch me acting so recklessly.”

Harry’s sure this is meant as a joke, and he hesitates for a second before snorting. Louis dissolves into laughter too. “Oi, you trying to say that I’m anything less than perfect?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good.” Louis pouts and Harry could throw him across the room he’s that bloody endearing. “I’m moulding the minds of the future; I simply can’t afford to roll with the cool kids.”

“That’s probably very wise.” Harry says, Louis protesting and pushing his fist into the flesh of his arm. It’s not really a punch, there’s no force behind it. Louis’ skin almost glows in this light. Angelic, Harry thinks, is a good word to describe him. All backlit and soft and gentle.

“I am very wise.” Louis says, almost too late. They’ve sat together in a comfortable, almost star struck silence for just a beat too long. “’Ere, another drink? Chinese always makes me thirsty!”

“It’s the MSG.” Harry says as he nods for another beer. He hasn’t technically finished this one yet, but he finds himself unwilling to say no to this boy.

Louis doesn’t respond but his face flickers as if he has taken in what Harry has said. He’s aware, though, that he is dangerously close to slipping into Boring Harry territory. Louis makes a crude remark to the guys from the kitchen, all four of them breaking into banter and laughter as Harry sits on the sofa with his head tipped slightly back, thinking about how he wishes it was Saturday night not Friday night because he wouldn’t have to get up early for work the next morning if it were. Damn the Saturday morning early shift. Damn it to hell.

“Wake up Sleeping Beauty.” Louis’ gently lilt brings him back to reality. As he opens his eyes he sees Louis peering in at him with a curt but soft smile on his lips. He holds out another bottle. Harry accepts it gratefully and Louis settles back down next to him, perhaps a little closer than before, but that might just be Harry’s imagination…

*

Louis has declared precisely four times that evening that he must be leaving soon to get to bed, as he is almost thirty and all that. Niall has proclaimed that makes Louis the grandad of the group, and that Liam is the dad. Much bewilderment and joy is gained from this, Harry chuckling away to himself; the stoned Niall and Zayn absolutely falling over themselves with laughter.

Despite this, the evening does start to wind down about 1am. Harry credits his earlier nap for his ability to still be awake at this unholy hour. Liam and Louis both also appear to be dead on their feet; a combination of old age and working full time, Louis insists.

“Speak for yourself,” Liam slurs as Louis insinuates he is getting old.

“Stop reminding me!” Louis wails, picking a discarded prawn cracker off Liam’s plate and biting into it firmly, sprays of white crumb going everywhere. “Llama-face, d’you reckon your darlin’ wife would gimme lift home?”

“I’d expect so, Pooey-Louis.”

Harry finds himself grinning unabashedly at the to-and-fro between Liam and Louis. He wonders how long they’ve been friends, how they know each other, how he can get Louis to smile at him the way he smiles at Liam.

It’s not long before Liam, Louis and apparently now Niall too, are ambling down the stairs raucously to the waiting Sophia. Zayn leans lazily against the door frame, waving them off with a drunken smile long after they’re out of sight. Harry makes a concerted effort not to look out the window as he hears the car pull off on the street below.

 

***

 

Liam loves his boys so very much, even Harry who he barely knows he feels fiercely protective over. He’s like a newborn Bambi on an ice rink, all innocent and delicate and lovable.

After their cross country tour of Manchester dropping the lads off is complete, and it’s just the two of them in the car, he peers into the wing mirror at the empty back seat. “There’ll be a little person in a car seat in there one day, Soph.” He says drunkenly, but the sentiment is genuine.

She just smiles and nods. Liam isn’t too drunk or too high to miss the sadness of her features. She doesn’t take her eyes off the road, but he doesn’t have to see the inevitable broken shadow in her chocolate brown eyes to know it’s there.

Liam had cut back on his drinking to once a week. It had never been a big problem but it was one of the first things the doctors had asked about when they went to their first appointment with the fertility team. The occasional puff on a joint with Zayn was unlikely to have any long term implications, it’s under control and genuinely is not an issue, but it didn’t stop the guilt wracking him.

Liam and Sophia had both been dizzy with their plans to have a baby as soon as they were married. They came back from their honeymoon in Greece giddy with their plans for little Junior’s nursery; names, nursery floor plans, maternity leave and feeding options flying around like shrapnel. It happened on the first go. They were newlyweds expecting their first child, everything had slotted into place automatically. It hadn’t lasted, though. After losing their first child, nothing happened again for almost a whole year. Then they went to the doctors and eventually were told that, whilst there was no immediate obvious reason for their sub-fertility – his semen analysis was normal and her pelvic ultrasound was normal – they we’re still not pregnant after almost two years of consciously trying, two and a half in total, and they fell into the unexplained category. Then the drugs started; every month Sophia got a new prescription and they poured over charts and calendars. Again, on the second cycle, two days after her period was due they tested and it came up positive. By the end of the following day, however, their hearts were broken once again.

They never gave up, though. Although reluctant, IVF was an option, and there was certainly no harm in keeping on trying naturally. So they did. Despite his inebriation and tiredness, they tried that night. Twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Yay for OT5 friendship and the blossoming friendship between HL :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Louis has man-flu and Harry brings him cakes.
> 
> Short fluffy-friendship filler :)

It’s been more than a week since he’s seen anyone other than strangers on the bus and the kids in his class. It’s been the worst week of his life, and he’s not being melodramatic. Somehow, even though they’re well into the second week of April, he has a cold. Or flu, probably is more accurate. His mum would tell him that it’s to be expected when working with children, if he was arsed to ring her. So, after barely making it through Monday at school, for the first time, literally, ever, he’s had to call in sick.

Under the scrutiny of the fish, and with his duvet cover draped over his shoulders like Superman, Louis throws himself back down on the sofa and wiggles and shifts until he is suitably comfortable. His ribs ache from coughing and his head feels like it’s full of cotton wool balls. After waking briefly to call in sick at 6.45, he’s slept all the way to lunch time in a Night Nurse induced coma. He manages to migrate from his bed to the sofa, which is pretty good going considering how rough he feels.

A cup of tea that he doesn’t fully remember making sits on the coffee table stone cold. He turns and rests his head on a well-placed cushion, left cheek down. He closes his eyes and lies there deliriously for an immeasurable amount of time. He fades in and out happily until a soft wrap on the front door jolts him from the brink of sleep.

“Bloody hell…” He curses as he wriggles reluctantly out of his cocoon and slides his socked feet along the hallway to the door, cursing presumably the Postman for disturbing him.

“Oh!” He exclaims in surprise as he throws the door open. It’s not the Postman but a certain curly haired, green eyed baker named Harry.

“Hiya, sorry t-be, well I was on my way out and Zayn asked me to, uh, drop these in?” Harry mumbles, holding out a crumpled paper bag. “Says they’re your favourite?”

Louis clutches the bag weakly and peers inside; two triple chocolate muffins, all cracked and re-solidified oozes of three different chocolates. “Oooh, my favourite!”

He looks from the bag back up at Harry who is positively beaming. It warms Louis in an instant. That million kilowatt smile could end world wars, create world peace. Despite his current state and less-than-acceptable attire, he finds himself saying “You can come in if you like? I was gonna flick the TV over to Jeremy Kyle, you really don’t wanna be missing that, do you?”

Happily, Harry nods graciously and follows behind Louis as they make their way to the living room. Suddenly cringing as he remembers the duvet tossed over the sofa, Louis skips ahead to quickly boot it over the other side of the room. “Sorry, mess!”

“It’s okay, I’ve interrupted your duvet day.”

 _Duvet day,_ Louis thinks. How bloody cute. Harry seats himself on the short end of Louis’ L-shaped sofa. He settles himself down in his usual spot, the brown leather cold again now. He peers at the clock; it’s past 12pm so he’s technically past breakfast time so it’s not entirely unreasonable to eat a muffin now.

“Did you make these?” Louis asks suddenly as if he’s just had an epiphany. Harry nods modestly, peering in at Louis innocently. “Do you want the other one?”

“No thanks,” Harry waves a hand. “I’m afraid if I eat another one of those again I will turn into a cocoa plant.”

Louis laughs at that, partly because it’s funny but mainly because it’s just so damn peculiar. Up until that very minute, Louis hadn’t been in the mood to talk to anyone. But now, as the delightfully quirky and almost apologetic Harry perches on the sofa with his baggy grey knitted cardigan and faded Nirvana smiley t-shirt, he decides he doesn’t want to be alone. And he still hasn’t turned the TV on.

“So you have a cold?” Harry asks, and it’s almost a stupid question.

“Yes.” Louis replies glumly. “What gave me away, my red nose or my pasty face? Hacking cough or scratchy throat?”

“All of the above!” Harry says with a kind smile.

“I’ve got today to recover and its back at it tomorrow. I’ll probably have a bath in hot honey and lemon tonight.”

“That’s very sensible.” Harry has said, and it’s been a few beats and Louis still hasn’t responded. His thoughts are still stuck on the silly doodles around Harry’s left wrist.

“Yeah,” He coughs suddenly, racing to catch up with his own conversation. “I have to be, I _am_ almost thirty you know!”

“Thirty? Really?” Harry quirks an eyebrow then furrows them almost immediately as Louis frowns deeply. “Well you don’t look a day over twenty eight!”

“Thanks!” Louis says, his frown dissolving into a giggle. He suddenly feeling very exposed and wishing he hadn’t thrown the bed covers so far out of the way. “It’s pretty rubbish being a grown up though, isn’t it? Me mum says I’ve got Peter Pan Syndrome.”

“I wouldn’t have thought never growing up is all that.”

“Probably not.” Louis agrees reluctantly. “Sometimes I look at my kids, at school I mean, and think how they’ve got their whole lives ahead of them, so much to explore and learn. I’m already like…. half way there.”

“Half?” Harry scoffs incredulously. “More like, a quarter. A third, even?”

“That’s optimistic.” Louis says flatly, though the corners of his mouth quirk up into a grin that Harry reciprocates. “I’m the eternal pessimist.”

“It’s cold in ‘ere, empty.” Harry says suddenly, taking Louis by surprise. “Like, it feels sad. Does it not get lonely?”

“Uh…” Louis isn’t sure how to respond. No one has ever asked him a question like that before, besides his mum. “It can be?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.” Harry turns away again, gathering his hands in his lap studiously.

“Not at all,” Louis says, mostly to fill the silence. He can almost feel his sinuses tightening and a sneeze coming on. His eyes water as he powers on, trying to oppress it. “I guess it’s always been just me since I graduated uni, so I haven’t really known any different.”

“That’s fair enough,” Harry says solemnly, before perking up, “Besides, you’re not entirely alone, you’ve got your fish.”

“That’s tr-” is all Louis can say before his sneeze catches up to him and erupts out of his face. “Jesus, sorry!”

“It’s okay, at least I can vouch for you that you’re not skiving off work.”

Louis nods, laughs and then sneezes again. “You’d better go, I don’t want to take you down with my illness.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says softly, but he smoothes down his jeans and stands up anyway. “I’ll let Zayn know the muffins were a hit.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty light hearted chapter, more OT5 and HL friendship building. Things are bubbling away nicely under the surface!
> 
> The parts with Zayn at the School of Art require a bit of artistic licensing as I’m sure Zayn wouldn’t be able to assist in university level courses on a willy-nilly basis but that’s what he does in this AU so….
> 
> PS – There’s an Ed Sheeran reference in here during the Zarry kitchen scene, it was completely unintentional but made me laugh when writing it.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Zayn has long since learned to sleep through Harry going out in the mornings. Despite this, he’s still awake early on Thursday morning, the sweet tinkle of his phone waking him from his slumber. He gets it on second ring, pulling it blindly to his ear.

“Rem, what the fuck?”

“Mally!” Remi booms down the phone at him, his face collapsing into a pained grimace at the sudden noise. “Get your pale arse outta bed, we’re doing a course today at MSA!”

“Rem, it’s…” he pulls the phone away from his ear to peer blearily at the screen, “quarter to eight, piss off.”

“D’you want my money or no?”

Zayn doesn’t respond for a moment. He blinks rapidly and tries to clear his sleep-addled brain. “Urghh, what time?”

*

To say that the Manchester School of Art is a nice place would be, quite frankly, an understatement. It was weird being back seven years later as an assistant rather than a pupil. Here Zayn had obtained his Bachelors in graphic design; a degree he is yet to use in anything more than a casual fashion, but that’s neither here nor there.

Remi’s dad runs the graphic design course, has done since the Dark Ages. Remi, in his final year at the time, took first year Zayn under his wing, and the rest is history, to put it basically. Remi would pay Zayn a modest rate out of his own pocket to assist on the courses with him; something Zayn was ribbed about by Niall and the boys – “He’s the Del Boy of the Art World!” – but he loved it and one day his dreams would take him to where he wanted to be, but for now this would do.

The session he was sitting in on was the textiles course. Once the printing presses and sewing machines whirred into action, he was given pretty much free reign to wander around and have a look at the student’s projects; offer his opinion and get a feel for what’s ‘trending’.

*

  
It’s getting on for three in the afternoon by the time he gets back to the flat; the closest thing to a full day’s ‘work’ he has done in months. It’s cloudy out, intermittent bursts of sunshine not holding much force behind them, and the flat smells undisturbed and tranquil; as it must do when he isn’t around stinking the place out with weed smoke and homemade pakoras.

“You’re slowly seeping into every room in this place, aren’t ya!” He remarks as he finds Harry in the kitchen mid-way through battling some sort of chrome-clad kitchen appliance. Harry turns at the commotion, his face ashen and full of concern. Zayn quickly remembers himself and assures him, “It’s great, don’t get me wrong. This place could do with some home comforts.”

“I just borrowed it from work.” Harry explains, pushing it to the back of the countertop and plugging it in.

“Bread maker?” Zayn guesses, peering down at the contraption like it might bite him.

“Close!” Harry smiles. “Ice cream maker.”

Zayn almost snorts, it’s unexpected and it’s something so totally not what he and Ed would ever have in their kitchen. Thinking out loud, he says “Ed would have loved that.”

Harry literally, genuinely squeals at that. It’s only very soft and he would have missed it if he wasn’t stood so close, but it happened and Harry’s embarrassed, flustered grin will never change that.

  
   
***

He’s not one hundred percent better, but Louis’ back to work on Wednesday. As a direct consequence of spending approximately nineteen hours in bed, he’s up and awake by four, padding around his chilly flat dressed and ready to go by quarter to five. Naturally, by the time it’s actually time to go out the door at ten to seven, he’s dozing off again in front of the TV; Sky Sports News’ Through The Night segment obviously not interesting enough to hold him.

He makes the bus by the skin of his teeth; the light job he had to break into saving his time-keeping for the day but doing nothing for the tight, knotty feeling in his chest. His heart hammers against his ribs between his heaving lungs for much longer than appropriate after he sinks down into his seat on the bus.

The bus sits behind the bin lorry in town for some time before eventually trundling out of the town into the suburbs. Absent-mindedly he takes his phone out of the inside pocket of his bag and unlocks the screen without intention. He stares down at the background picture; one of the defaults the phone came with. Has it really been four years since he was in a relationship? Since he had someone to take lock screen photos with? Yes it has, and that’s the most depressing thought he’s had all week.

For some reason, he looks over his shoulder before opening up his Messages. Liam, Daniel and his mum are they only ones that have texted him this year. It’s April, for God’s sake. He taps on Daniel, his cheeks burning at the last message he’d received:  
 _  
‘Can still feel you on my tongue, want you in my mouth right now xx’_

Shaking his head, he presses the return arrow and clicks the New Message icon.

_‘Taking the other muffin to work, roll on lunch time! x’_

He agonises over the ‘x’ on the end of the text, but he can’t take it back now. He could smash his phone to smithereens and move to Timbuktu but it would still be sitting in Harry’s inbox. In the seven minutes it takes the bus to arrive at his stop, he doesn’t get a text back and he decides that that’s fine. Fan-bloody-tastic.

*

Stupid as it sounds, he immediately feels better for seeing the familiar, round and sometimes sticky faces of his kids lumber into the classroom. He stands at the door, like he does every morning, high fiving the girls and bumping fists with the boys, greeting them all as individually as he can.

Friday afternoon always means arts and crafts, but first they’ve got a numbers test and a ‘colours of the rainbow’ slideshow on the overhead projector to get through, before break time, story reading and then playtime in the home corner. He shuffles onto his desk to call the register, his feet swinging a good foot off the ground.

“Right!” He claps his hands together once the necessaries are done and launches himself off the desk. “Were you all good for Mrs Taylor yesterday?”

The entire room choruses back their affirmations, twin brothers Jayden and the devil himself Jackson grinning from ear to ear as they sit together at the back of the class. Louis doubts the day was entirely smooth for the substitute, but, at the end of the day it’s not his problem.

Madison clutches his trouser leg as he walks around giving out the maths papers, “Are you feel better, Mr… _Tomison_?”

Louis smiles down at her and nods theatrically, “Yes, all better now Miss Maddie. Thank you for asking!”

The morning goes well, and lunch is spent in the classroom filling in his return to work form to give to the head teacher in view of his absence, catching up after missing a day and getting the arts and crafts ready for the mayhem that is bound to arise that afternoon. He feels his phone in his bag vibrate against his foot under the desk, but with uncharacteristic strength and determination, he ignores it until home time, though he is practically hyperventilating by the time he is sat on the bus with his phone in his hands.

_‘Sorry! Just finished work, glad you liked them :) x’_

He adds the cupcake emoji to Harry’s contact name before he can stop himself. With a smug little smile to himself he slips his phone into his coat pocket and smiles madly to himself the whole way home. Louis is the Bus Weirdo.  
 

***

 

“What are we, five? Jelly and ice cream, you kidding me, Mal?” Louis asks incredulously. It’s Saturday afternoon and his liberal dosage of Night Nurse has left him feeling fit as a fiddle.

“Well, Harry’s brought this maker thing home from work an’ it makes a change, don’t it? If you don’t want any you can kindly fuck off.”

“No, no! I didn’t say that did I?” Louis chuckles, his interest spiking at the mention of the H-word. To be fair, the air is warm and sticky and the sun is high, high, high in the clear blue sky. Perfect ice cream weather. “What time d’you want me?”

*

When he gets to Zayn’s, he doesn’t let himself in automatically, something Zayn questions him on through the intercom before he even lets him in. After 20 questions, he’s finally up the stairs and in the front door, puffing slightly from the climb.

“Hi,” Harry pokes his head round the kitchen corner and smiles as brightly as the actual sun as Louis settles himself on the sofa. The windows are thrown open and the nets billow gently in the wind. Its bloody lovely is what it is.

“Hiya!” Louis gives a little wave, noting the soft humming coming from the kitchen, from Harry.

“So…” Zayn reappears from wherever he was rubbing his hands together. “Jelly and ice cream is a no-go. No jelly. But can we tempt you with beer and ice cream?”  
Louis pulls a disappointed faux-pout before muttering, “I guess so.”

Niall bursts through the door just in time for the first beer, as if by some sort of magic. “Mr Leeham won’t be joining us. He’s doing husbandly things that he just can’t get out of. Somethin’ about ‘give me more notice next time’ too, whatever.” He announces as he sweeps across the room to the fridge like it’s an automatic reflex or something.

Niall and Zayn mock Liam for this and make jokes, but Louis wishes a million times it was him with family commitments and a plan, rather than sitting in his mates flat on Saturday afternoon drinking beer and eating ice cream. Well, the ice cream can stay, but the rest is not acceptable.

The clinking of metal spoons against ceramic bowls fills the air as they indulge in Harry’s homemade white chocolate ice cream with raspberry coulis, which is certainly a far cry from the Smartprice vanilla Louis buys for 89p in Asda.

“I’ve never had white chocolate ice cream before…” He says dreamily as he stirs a slick of raspberry sauce into the melting ice cream.

“It’s a Jamie Oliver recipe; I can’t take all the credit.” Harry says. Louis’ eyes wander past Harry to the row of Jamie Oliver cook books on the kitchen shelf. From the early Naked Chef’s to Comfort Food and Super Food, he has them all and the spines are faded and creased, indicating heavy usage.

“Jamie Oliver recipe or not, I couldn’t pull this off. Well done.” Niall says kindly, his mouth full.

“The most I could rely on Ed for was a lukewarm takeaway and a crate of beers.” Zayn muses.

“I still can’t believe you lot just talk about Ed while I’m ‘ere-”

“Creaming your knickers?” Niall interrupts with a devilish smile.

“Not quite the eloquence I was going for, but that’s the general idea, yeah.” Harry says, and a ripple of laughter goes around the room, emanating from Louis. Subtle. Very subtle.

“It’s weird, being friends with a celebrity.” Niall laments almost wistfully.

“Celebrity? Careful, you’ll give Ed a big head.” Zayn quips.

Louis watches Harry as he listens contently to their stories, his eyes wide with awe. From Zayn’s stories of their school days, when Ed had joined the school in year ten, to Ed’s first gigs in pubs and sweaty clubs, to him signing on the dotted line with a record label and moving down to London. The little trip down memory lane is bittersweet for them all; six years of friendship is a lot and although Ed’s not quite a multimillionaire megastar quite yet, his name is out there, enough for people to think they know who he is, and they hear less and less from him.

Drinks at the pub became infrequent texts; infrequent texts became liking the occasional Facebook status. Ed got a public Facebook page and that was the beginning of the end. The last time Louis checked it he was getting close to one million likes. Almost one million people ‘like’ the lad he rode piggy-back on down the Pier at the Skegness because he was too short to see over the wind shields, the guy who inaugurated their now-defunct weekly drunk Twister game. Louis had pressed ‘Like’ then immediately logged out of Facebook. That was three months ago and he hadn’t been back on since.

  
*

By the time the sun is going down, they’re all sufficiently drunk, with perhaps the exception of Harry, who is still whinging about when Niall fashioned ice cream floats with beer.

“Ohhh, get over it Hazza!” Louis finds himself shouting, but he smiles to let him know he means well.

“ _Get over it! Get over it_!” Niall bursts into song, quoting the Eagles. He is sprawled over the entire sofa, one leg over the back and one leg bent awkwardly over the armrest. He lazily claps his hands in the air twice before resting them back on his stomach.

Zayn’s high must have officially crashed, as he buzzes around them collecting empty bottles and Niall’s crisp packets. The long since finished bowls of ice cream sit on the coffee table, besides Niall’s that’s on the floor, melted dessert sticky and congealing in the bottom.

_“Victim of this, victim of that! Your mama’s too thin and your daddy’s too fat! Get over it! Get over it!”_

“That’s right, you fuckers just sit around while I do all the work!” Zayn mutters, mainly to him and Niall, Louis presumes. There’s no way anyone could ever be mad at Harry.

They sit like bookends on the small sofa, pressed into the corners with little space between them. Louis sits with his legs tucked under himself - they’re going a little numb to be honest - while Harry has tucked one leg under the other and stares dozily into space, his features taught but neutral. Louis stares at him absent-mindedly, slumped there looking all broody and pouty.

_“Got your mind in the gutter, bringin’ everybody down…_ Don’t bring me down, Malik!”

Niall howls in reaction to Zayn flicking him on the forehead, shaking Harry out of his daydream. He blinks repeatedly as he stares around the room, apparently very disorientated.

“Alright there Dreamer?” Louis asks softly. He hadn’t intended for his words to come out sounding as if Harry was the only person left in the world, but they did.

“Miles away…” Harry muses, and they share a smile that, again, makes Louis feel like they’re the only two people in the room. The world.

*

He shares the walk home with Niall, the Irishman’s idea to stop off at the chippy on the way home not a bad one at all. He helps himself to chips on the way back, avoiding the lashings of ketchup Niall had obliterated them with.

The overpowering silence of his own flat is smothering after the excitement and hubbub of Zayn and Harry’s. Zayn had once compared his living room to a dentist’s waiting area and he couldn’t shake that analogy from his brain right now. Aside from his own barely functioning existence wilting on the sofa, the only signs of life are the recently boiled kettle and the TV on volume notch number two playing an old episode of 16 and Pregnant that he isn’t even watching. Why is the TV on if it is only on volume number two? Why is his phone in his hand? Why is he pressing Daniel’s name and sending a text, even though he knows it’s not what he wants?

_‘Lonely n bored, up for some company? x’_

In two more texts, he’s given Daniel his details and he’s on his way over. Down one cup of tea, he’s wandering hopelessly into his bedroom to squirt a fresh spritz of Bleu De Chanel and change out of his chip shop stinking clothes into indigo skinnies and a white round neck t-shirt. All too quickly, the intercom is shrieking at him and he buzzes Daniel in without even saying a word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you say Fluff-fest?? :)

Checking his bank to find he’s been paid is always a strange time for Harry; a relief but anxiety inducing at the same time. Once he’s paid the coming months rent and put £30 in the food shopping fund, he feels better. Half of what’s left goes in to his Savings Account, as it always has, and he forgets about it the way he has trained himself to do. He doesn’t even have a card for the account. That’s back at his mum’s house, in an Air Max 95 shoe box under the bed in his old room.

“Thanks, happy One Month of being Roomies!” Zayn comments as he casually folds the notes around themselves and shoves them in his pocket.

“Oh! Yeah, you too.” To be honest, it already feels like he’s always been here. The past week or so has really been the turning point. He’d never really had friends; the people he’d been living around were not the type of people you’d pick for friends if you had a choice. This new world he was now a part of was different though, he already felt like maybe he might belong?

These are the kind of thoughts that roll around his head at 4.45am on Saturday morning when he’s walking to work. 98% of the rest of the population of Manchester is still in bed. The street lights are still on, the occasional window in the occasional building is illuminated and the moon is so high up in the gradually turning sky that it gives almost no contribution.

He thinks Liam seems nice enough. Very kind, a good friend. He and Louis seem to get on well. They’re probably best friends, if he had to guess. Liam’s married to Sophia, she seems nice. She and Louis seem close also. Zayn and Liam seem to have a different relationship; Harry can’t put his finger on it really. Louis was like a child poking at a bees nest the way he coaxed embarrassing stories out of his friends, yet there was very little dirt on him. Which one had the most history with Louis? Why does his brain keep coming back to Louis? Analysing the way Louis curls his legs under himself and fits into the smallest of places; his laugh is a head-back-and-cackle type affair. He drinks like a fish on weekends but his eyes light up when he talks about ‘his kids’ at school. Louis lives alone. Why does Louis live alone? His flat had seemed sterile and lonely in the fifteen minutes Harry had spent in it. Why is that? And why can’t Harry think of anything else?

 

***

 

A disastrous Monday morning working alone is not what he needs or wants. The answer machine was flashing when he burst into his kitchen three minutes late. He hit ‘play’ on the answering machine as he blustered around the kitchen getting the ovens fired up and the necessaries out of the chiller to acclimatise.

“Hiya Harry love, its Ellen. I’m not gonna be able to make it in today, I feel truly awful. Graham will call you once you’re about to arrange cover I’m sure. See you darling!”

“Harry, hi, it’s Mr Baxter-” Graham. “I’ve had a telephone message from Ellen, I will arrange to have Holly come down-” No no no! “to cover. Please call me once you arrive.”

It took some major convincing to stop Graham sending down his granddaughter Holly to cover Ellen’s shift. Truth be told, working the morning shift alone was crap but working it with Holly was even worse. She’d worked with them the entire summer holidays before she went off to college last year, and it had been the most difficult, trying time of Harry’s working life; getting under their feet, filling an entire batch of supposedly steak and kidney pies with chicken and mushroom filling and arriving half an hour late on two consecutive Friday’s, to name just a few things.

He studies the specials card for the day; steak and onion pies, sugared jam doughnuts and chocolate cornflake cakes.

“The sublime to the ridiculous…” He mutters as he mentally plans out his morning itinerary. The cornflake cakes are the simplest and the quickest, so they can go on the back burner for now. Firing up the deep fat fryers, he focuses on doughnuts, his least bloody favourite thing to make. The mixture of savoury and sweet means he’ll have to fire up two different burners.

The smell of browning onions stinks the place out, his eyes red raw and stinging. He considers the poster on the wall – ‘When chopping onions the trick is to not get emotionally attached’. He is in no mood for humour today. Even injecting the dough balls with jam – a task he usually thoroughly enjoys – brings him no pleasure.

It’s been unfeasibly warm all sodding day and by the time little Marie arrives to relieve him at midday, the sweat is streaming down his face, itching and disgusting and annoying. The first batch of eight pies are cooling by the window, as are the doughnuts, and the second batch of 24 cornflake cakes are in the fridge, and he is officially a free man until 5am tomorrow morning.

He doesn’t stop to even peer in the window of the charity shop, he just wants – needs – to get home and get in the shower. He barges through the door grumpily, intent on mumbling a greeting to Zayn and heading straight for the shower.

“Hello cupcake!” A familiar, perky voice that is definitely not Zayn travels across from the other side of the room. He lifts his head for the first time since getting home to see a casually dressed Louis leaning against the window sill. He has half his body turned awkwardly in Harry’s direction, a friendly smile on his face that momentarily melts away all of Harry’s anguish.

For a moment he is just rooted to the spot. Then, his brain catches up with the rest of him and shit! The fluttering in his stomach that had been his first reaction was quickly replaced with bone-crushing mortification. His hair needed a wash like, yesterday, and his hands and clothes smelled like onion from the pies he’d spent all morning making.

“Where’s Zayn?” He asks breathlessly, the first clear thought he can form in his brain. Did it sound a bit snappy? Christ, it probably did.

“He had to pop to the shop for…. for umm, I dunno something to do with the samosas.”  
He perks up briefly at the prospect of samosas. Zayn does make a mean samosa; he hopes they’re lamb, or chicken he doesn’t mind. “Hang on, it’s half twelve in the afternoon? Why are you here? Drinking beer?” Louis' hair that is normally styled so beautifully into a quiff is sans product and pushed off his face with a thin black headband, little golden tufts sticking up that catch the sunlight from the window.

“It’s half term!” Louis replies brightly. Harry nods, and yes, that makes sense; that must be why the food counter staff had called him up so urgently for more cornflake cakes earlier.

His mind moves on from samosas to refocus on Louis, who has now moved to sit cross-legged on the sofa. He has a bag of sour Haribo sweets that Harry hadn’t noticed previously. Oh yeah, and the knotty, jingly feeling in his tummy is back.

“Sit down!” Louis instructs; all Harry’s intentions of going for a shower disappear and he’s across the room and next to Louis in a second. “Tough day?” Louis asks with a smirk as he pops sour gummy bear and a sour fried egg into his mouth.

“Yeah, Ellen phoned in sick so I was working on me own, the owner did call and ask if I wanted him to send Holly in but she’s about as much use as a chocolate teapot, and the special was beef and onion mini pies and doughnuts which are the most complicated things ever, why they put them on at the same time I’ll never know. Plus, I stink and… I, sorry...” He trails off, wishing he could fit his fist in his mouth just to shut himself up.

“It’s okay,” Louis says softly, his smile never waiving the entire spiel. He untucks his legs abruptly and stretching them out almost completely straight to prop his feet up on the coffee table. They just about reach. He crosses his legs over at the ankle and balances the open bag of sweets on his thigh. He definitely doesn’t look comfortable. Without thinking, Harry leans forwards and inches the coffee table closer to them, leaving behind little indentations in the carpet.

“Thank you.” Louis says appreciatively, holding the bag up to him, the thin plastic gaping open. Harry takes a small handful consisting of three gummy bears and a fried egg and sits back himself, keeping his arms pinned awkwardly to his sides in case Louis suddenly slaps him and tells him to stop being so weird. But… he doesn’t.

“I like the fried eggs.” He says softly as he chews. Louis doesn’t respond; just sitting down and finally relaxing is all that Harry needs to finally unravel and chill out. The shaft of sunlight coming in through the window shines directly over their legs; his skin prickling under the heat of the sun on his black trousers.

Louis idly lifts his t-shirt to scratch his belly; revealing a slither of slightly rounded but tanned stomach, jutting hip bones and a smattering of hair on tanned skin. The joggers he’s wearing are clearly not his own; the string is knotted as tight as it will go and the waistband is bunched. Harry remembers him changing so brazenly into Zayn’s trackies once before. “Your smell is making me hungry though.”

Harry laughs through his nose, Louis smiling fondly as he tips his back over the top of the sofa. He slowly rolls his head side to side and there is no need for words immediately.

“Zayn’s trackies?” He asks eventually, deciding in a millisecond to reach over and lazily tug at the ample navy fabric.

“Yeah!” Louis confirms, looking up with a hearty chuckle. He lines up four sweets on his belly as he continues to talk. “I arrived wearing these though; I… acquired them some time ago.”

Harry laughs as a million thoughts run through his mind. Without warning, Louis tilts his head to rest on his shoulder. His hair smells fresh and clean, certainly not like his own. They chatter half-heartedly, though the comfortable silences that they lounge together in are somehow everything Harry has ever wanted but also everything he didn’t know he wanted. Every time Louis picks out a sour fried egg sweet from the packet he passes it to Harry.

“Aww bless!” Zayn suddenly bursts through the door, swinging an unmarked black and white striped carrier bag. He scrunches up his face and his shoulders as he mocks their comfortable position on the sofa. Louis makes zero effort to respond or react at all, so Harry follows suit, biting the inside of his cheek to try and suppress his grin.

Whatever Zayn has smoked during his little excursion to the shops turns him into Motor Mouth; however it soon becomes apparent to Harry that Stoned Zayn produces the best tasting curry and samosas ever.

Harry listens intently as Zayn rambles to himself almost incessantly the whole time he is in the kitchen, Louis shamelessly mocking him. Harry does briefly pause to wonder whether he is coming on a bit strong? Laughing at every little thing that comes out of Louis’ mouth could well be conceived as trying too hard. But trying too hard to what? Make a friend? Be sociable? Was there more to this? He could ask himself a million questions but then he’d miss Louis’ rousing rendition of Zayn’s version of ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ by Bill Withers.

 

***

 

Turns out, eating his main meal at lunchtime makes Harry very sleepy. Zayn serves up at half past one and by quarter past two, Harry is tucked up against the arm of the chair sounds asleep with his ear pressed to his shoulder and his chin pressed to his chest, his arm bent very awkwardly around the back of his head and his bottom lip petting endearingly.

“Shall we draw on him?” Zayn asks mischievously.

“No, let him sleep!” Louis says eventually, after laughing devilishly first.

Turns out, Harry is a remarkably quiet sleeper, but he does twitch an awful lot. If it’s not his foot it’s his arm. It’s not enough to distract Louis from his game of Fifa though, so that’s something.

It’s getting on for half three when Harry starts to stir. His head has drooped lower and lower and he definitely doesn’t look comfortable. He is all arms and legs sticking out in various directions and as he leaves sleep and starts to wake up he groans softly.

“Curry, onions and oil, a winning combination!” Louis smirks as Harry blinks awake, looking around the room in bewilderment as he comes too.

“Urgh, don’t!” He exclaims, his voice raspy and his mouth sticky yet dry at the same time. He gets to his feet on shaky legs and mumbles something incoherent as he stumbles towards the bathroom.

He watches him until the door clunks closed behind him, smiling like an idiot. As he turns his attention back to their game of Fifa, Zayn catches his eye. He doesn’t say anything just pulls an entertained expression.

“What?” He snaps defensively. Ignorance is bliss right now, so he maintains a blank expression. “Twat!” He mutters before re-starting their game and sailing to a comfortable 4-1 victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve just discovered that there isn’t in fact a cupcake emoji……… booo! But as this is an AU, it is an AU where the cupcake emoji exists. Because it should!
> 
> Some Sophiam angst here to kick things off, followed by pining Louis.

It was already getting on for seven before he got home, and Sophia was already pacing the living room carpet when he burst through the door on Thursday evening.

“Hi gorgeous,” He calls as he chucks his jacket and bag onto the sofa and tosses his keys into the bowl by the door – and misses.

“What time do you call this Liam?” Sophia asks curtly with a huff as she picks up the keys that have clattered so unceremoniously to the floor.

“I know, I’m sorry, I got waylaid.” He explains as he kicks off his shoes and loosens his tie. “I’m here now though.”

He goes to slink his arms around her waist but she wriggles free, his time wasting not going down well. “Get in the shower.”

“Getting in the shower.”

Since he cut off his hair a year ago, Liam’s showers never take more than seven minutes, which works in his favour tonight. He’s out of the shower just before seven, padding wet footprints from the bathroom to the bedroom. He blasts over his hair with the towel, shaking out like a wet dog.

“Li, do you have to?” Sophia says, perching herself on the edge of the bed. He peers at her through the folds of the towelling material. Her smooth, tan legs stretch out for miles, topped off with patent black heels and disappearing into a black bodycon dress. Her hair is curly and tumbling over one shoulder just the way he likes it most.

“You look beautiful.” He says to Sophia’s reflection in the mirror as he turns. She smiles almost reluctantly, bashfully. He pulls out a black shirt. “Shall we go matchy-matchy?”

“No, Liam, that’s sad.”

“You’re sad.”

“Shut up and get ready you old tart.” She says flippantly though her fond smile gives her away.

“Tart? You’re the tart!” He steps away from choosing an outfit and makes his way to the end of the bed. Sophia shrieks as he guides her down onto the bed, her perfectly presented curls fanning out around her, rich chocolate brown on fresh, crisp white linen.

“My makeup, Li! Careful!”

“It’s fine, Soph.” He says insistently as he presses three kisses over her collarbone and neck. This close he can smell her perfume and it’s oh so familiar. “Kiss me.”

*

Liam still isn’t used to the heads that Sophia turns whenever they go places like this together; with her little ‘envelope clutch’ – see, he _does_ listen to her – tucked under her arm and glossy hair that could rival the shine of any mirror. They are shown to their seats and the waiter is soon scuttling off with their drinks order. Like every date night, Sophia will only have the one glass of white and then drive them home afterwards. It’s been that way since the first miscarriage. She is still sipping when Liam is on his second pint and dinner is touched down in front of them.

“So this month could be the month!” Liam says enthusiastically with a mouthful.

“Don’t jinx it!” She bats at his hand that is poised to take another forkful of steak.

“I dunno!” He says a bit too brightly. “I got a good feeling.”

“We have a good feeling every month, and… well, y’know.” She looks down at her chicken and chases a cherry tomato around the plate with her fork. Liam knows this Sophia, and he’s got about three seconds to turn it around before he loses her.

“Love, don’t think about before. Think about the future. It’s going to happen.” He says firmly, but the way her face falls indicates that was the wrong thing to say.

“What, just forget about it?” She asks incredulously, setting her fork down on the side of her plate with a clang. “How can you say forget about it? They would be our children, Liam. Regardless of the outcome, they were _our_ childr-”

“Soph! Babe, that’s not what I meant!” He hisses, feeling their conversation is a million times more amplified than he’d like. “Of course I didn’t mean that. You know I’d never think something like that.”

“Well it sounded like it.”

_No it didn’t_ , he thinks. “I’m sorry. Don’t be upset.”

She is quiet for a moment before picking up her glass. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

*

Sophia is absolutely silent on the way home, snatching her hand away as he tries to rest it atop hers on the gear shift. She mutters monosyllabic answers when she needs to, accelerates _more_ than she needs to, and turns up the radio when Liam starts to try to reiterate how sorry he is.

They sleep with a divide down the centre of the bed all night long; any attempts at baby making they would normally indulge in out the window well and truly, but if Liam were to say that a night off from the meticulously planned and arduous sex was a hardship, he might just be lying.

 

***

 

Half term, as always, flies by in a blur for Louis. He averages about eleven hours a day in bed, which suits him fine. In fact, he didn’t get out of bed until 20 past 6 in the evening on the Thursday and that was only because his food shopping was delivered.

So, all in all, seeing Harry and Zayn on Monday and the Asda delivery guy on Thursday was the apex of his social calendar. Oh, not forgetting the forty five minutes he’d spent on the phone to Liam on Friday lunchtime counselling through his argument with Sophia the night before.

Monday morning is difficult. He had still been going over his lesson plans for the week at 1am, so crawling out of bed at 6.15 was killer. He always heard people harping on about how it was _soooo_ much easier to deal with the mornings when it was light out, but that was definitely bull.

The parents must have all breathed a collective sigh of relief that morning, as Louis’ class was hyper and talkative all morning. Getting them to sit at their desks with a finger to their lips to keep quiet didn’t work. His back-up strategy of breath-holding contests was probably not very well thought out and ultimately did little to calm the children. Break time was a blessing; the strong black coffee from the machine in the staff room enough to vibrate their hairs on his chest straight off.

An hour and a half later, at lunch time, he sinks down onto the (very low) sofa in the staff room, his phone in one hand and a second acidic coffee in the other. He peers down into his drink, the pathetic plastic cup the highlight of his day. A flash of fluorescent light from overhead bobs about on the surface. He had initially taken his own Yorkshire teabags to work with him, but now he was taking works teabags _home_ with him, in a sneaky attempt at cost cutting.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout darlin’?” Rebecca’s melodic tone breaks his train of thought. He blinks up at her, her soft, kind face and brown ringlets bobbing round her face not too dissimilarly to…

“ _Harry_.”

“Eh?” Her face contorts into a cute, confused little squint and he clears his throat wildly, remembering himself finally.

“Uh, sorry, nothing. Daydreaming is all.” He says quickly, hoping she won’t press him any further. “How was your morning?”

“Well, in the Big Bad World of year 2, we are deep in Speedy Reading territory.”

“Oooh, wild!” Louis smirks. Becky is nice, Becky is good. She was forever teasing him about her ‘grown up’ year twos versus his year ones. “I can only dream of such scholarly heights.”

“Yes, well, aspire to be me, I am quite fabulous.”

“Not quite as fabulous as me, darling.”

She cackles, a real Niall-style chortle, before agreeing, “True!”

He smiles fondly but, controversially, is glad when she excuses herself and he’s back in an empty staff room. Alone with his thoughts, he looks down at his screen to see sub-consciously his thumb has found his way to Harry’s text thread; the cupcake emoji has since been joined by the doughnut emoji and the ice cream emoji.

His eyes dart up to the top right hand corner; 12:16. Harry _should_ be out of work by now. Not that Louis has memorised parts of his schedule or anything. He debates sending a text, but what could he say without sounding like a creepy loser? ‘ _Hello?’ ‘How was work?’_ Why should he care? Should he just leave it? Probably yes.

_‘Added any more emoji’s to my name recently? x’_

As if by magic, a new message appears. Christ, maybe Harry had a special sixth sense that told him when Louis was being a weirdo. Nonetheless, Louis smiles at the message. He’d told Harry about the cupcake emoji, and Harry had told him the snail emoji might be more fitting. Niall had suggested the poo emoji, Liam the knee high boots emoji and Zayn the jellyfish – for some reason – but Louis had crossed all those off his mental shortlist of options.

_‘Doughnut and ice cream…. am I weird? x’_

_‘No not at all, im just glad you didn’t go with Niall’s suggestion x’_

_‘No, that was neither wise nor accurate x’_

_‘Thanks :-) x’_

_‘Anytime x’_ Louis adds the thumbs up emoji and proceeds to panic that its overkill. Harry’s reply isn’t instant like their previous exchange had been. Shit, he’s messed it up now. He does what he does best and sends another message.

_‘Back to work now, enjoy your afternoon x’_

If Harry replies, he doesn’t bother to check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunken OT5 escapades told partly in retrospect!!  
> Flashbacks to the night before in italics.

_It hadn’t taken Zayn or Niall any convincing at all that a night out was needed. Liam had been a little harder to coax out, having only just recently made it up with Sophia._

_Zayn managed to persuade Harry that he should come and moreover was welcome, and after learning the four of them were game, Louis didn’t take long to accept either._

 

***

 

Louis awakes on a pillow damp with dribble; a pint glass of water and a pack of paracetamol on his bedside table coming into view as his bleary eyes adjust to the light. He groans involuntarily as he attempts to lift his head, and quickly decides it’d be better to leave it for a moment. Instead, he reaches out blindly for his phone, flashing with indication of a message. Or, more specifically, three missed calls and two incoherent threads between him and Niall and him and Zayn respectively. An unknown number catches his eye at the top of his inbox. One little message sat there flagged unread. He doesn’t know the number, he can barely decipher the words on the screen, and it’s certainly better left unread.

He hisses in pain as he swings his legs out of bed; all stiff and uncoordinated he staggers across the room. The strategically placed chest of drawers by the door breaks his fall as he stumbles towards the door. His flat is dark and cold, and frankly, stinking. Christ, what happened last night? What time did he get in? He hadn’t a night out like that since probably his uni days; and for good reason he now realises. He goes first to the kitchen; his keys are inexplicably in the middle of the floor. Shit, did he lock the door last night?

Before he can check, he hears a creaking and a groaning from the front room. Cautiously, he steps into the hallway and peers round the door way slowly.

“What the hell are you lot doin’ ‘ere?” He yelps in surprise. It is not a pretty sight. Along the long side of the sofa Zayn is sprawled face down with an arm hanging over the edge no doubt going numb. On the short end of the sofa, Niall is curled into the foetal position and is dribbling on the leather – fucking perfect. Liam has drawn the short straw and has taken the floor, his head propped up at an insanely high angle on the ratty old beanbag chair Louis normally keeps hidden behind the sofa.

“Oi!” He says again, louder this time.

Niall is the first to show signs of life; slowly uncurling whilst making an unholy noise. “Oh! Alright Tommo?”

“Umm? Yes? I think?” Louis says, shifting his weight to his other leg even though his joints scream out at him to stop.

“Guess we didn’t make it home last night!” Niall observes casually, smirking at Liam on the floor who is clearly between sleep and consciousness and it jutting out his bottom lip heavily and chewing on air.

“Obviously…” Louis says. He can’t help but wonder why they’re all here but Harry. Did he head home at 11pm like a good little boy, tucked up in bed by half past with a Horlicks and a nice book?

“Water!” Liam shrieks suddenly as he comes to, sitting up with his head in his hands.

“Whose idea was this?” Louis cries as he falls quite literally onto Zayn.

“Gerroff, you!” Zayn mumbles, bucking his arse up and down until Louis has no choice but to climb off him, taking place on the coffee table instead. It’s hard and he can’t lie down on it but at least it’s better than trying to stand.

After the initial trauma of waking up, Niall is – as usual – the only one barely resembling a human being. He bounds about the place opening the curtains and turning on the TV to the music channels.

“Arghhhfffffuuuummmph!” Zayn moans incoherently into the sofa. He waves an arm wildly in the general direction of the TV but that does nothing to deter Niall.

“You English people and your hangovers… hilarious really!” He goes as far as to throw open a window. “This place needs some fresh air, it stinks of farts.”

“That’s Zayn!” Liam says automatically.

“Oi, Shurrup!” He mutters as he heaves himself up onto all fours, groaning melodramatically. “Urghhh, my head!”

Ten minutes later they’re all sat upright on the sofa; stony faced like gargoyles. They’ve made several requests to Louis to put the kettle on but these have gone largely ignored. As the proverbial fog clears, snippets from the evening before begin to slot into place and between them they manage to agree that they’d been out in town, a few different clubs, ended up in a gay club as per Louis’ request, and clearly ended the night with a sleepover of sorts.

“I need to piss!” Niall announces helpfully, and he leaps up off the sofa like he’s spring loaded. _Hateful twat,_ Louis thinks.

He closes his eyes in an attempt to stop the room spinning, but his efforts are mostly in vain. Someone has switched the telly over to the Hollyoaks omnibus, and thankfully turned it down to a more respectable level, and for a horrible moment he realises the full circle his life has come. Waking up hungover with his mates on Sunday morning to the sound of Hollyoaks is no different to waking up upside down in his bed, fully dressed as an esteemed student of the University of Manchester.

“Well well well!” Niall hollers from the bathroom. “What _do_ we have here?”

He joins Niall in the doorway, mildly horrified at what he might find, but it’s just Harry. Harry who had apparently decided the bathroom floor was the best place to take up residence for the night. He flounders on the floor, tucked into a C shape, his head resting on the bath mat like a piss poor excuse for a pillow.

“How did you end up there mate?” Niall asks gleefully as Harry uncurls himself slowly and props himself up against the side of the bath.

“I dunno.” Harry says curtly, slowly bringing a leg up to rest his head on his knee.

Louis smiles fondly down at the scene, Niall smirking too as he catches his eye. “Shift, Haz, I need to piss.”

With a moan and a whimper, Harry rolls himself inelegantly onto his hands and knees and crawls out of the bathroom, across the hall and into the living room. When he finally arrives, flanked by a bemused Louis, he straightens up on his knees and throws his upper body across the spare seat of the sofa. His breathing evens out and Louis suspects he might have fallen asleep again, but as he steps gingerly over his long legs and settles back down on the sofa, he sees his eyes are open but mournful with regret.

“I feel the same way.” Louis says softly. Harry manages a small smile back, and suddenly things don’t feel too bad.

“What about the tea, Tommo?” Liam says the second Louis is sat back down.

“Argh, Nialler’s up, he can make it.” He says, before raising his voice, “Ni, you’re on tea duty!”

Zayn flinches next to him and smacks his thigh. “Volume, Louis, _please_!”

 

_They arrive at a place called The Cottage already well, well drunk but still able to act sober enough to get in. It’s dark, obviously, the jumpy, erratic strobe lights drenching the area in temporary light. There are girls everywhere; they seem younger and more scantily clad than ever before and Louis feels distinctly middle-aged in their presence._

_Niall heads straight to the bar, coming back with a tray of empty shot glasses, a frosted bottle of Grey Goose and a scheming glint in his eye._

_“Sho-ooo-oooots!” He hollers as he sloshes a healthy dose of Grey Goose into the glasses. Even Harry, who appears quite out of his comfort zone, throws a tiny drink back with an almost mischievous grin._

_Niall pours again immediately after and demands another go round. Louis watches Harry, probably thoroughly unsubtly, as he waves his hands in protest at another shot. Niall presses him and presses him until eventually he downs another shot along with the rest of them._

 

Niall returns after a few moments balancing five cups of tea in assorted mugs on a metal tray from the oven, no less.

“An oven tray?” Louis asks sceptically as he takes one of the less milky looking beverages in his favourite Doncaster Rovers mug. “Really, Ni?”

Niall shrugs unaffectedly and takes the ‘Mr Grumpy’ mug. They sip in silence, an almost ashamed silence that is palpable; Liam with ‘Good Morning Handsome’ on his mug, Zayn with a cream and black polka dot mug and Harry with a ‘Kit Kat’ one that Louis’d got with an Easter egg one year.

_Partying with a married man and a gay guy had always meant that Niall and Zayn became the leaders of the pack on nights out, and that hadn’t changed with the introduction of Harry._

_A gaggle of nameless girls in tiny, tiny dresses and massive, massive heels had joined the masses while Liam and Louis continued to get more and more drunk. Niall had gravitated towards a girl with a lot of leg and not much dress, blonde hair and a large albeit toothy smile._

_A shorter, dark haired girl had come to rest up against Zayn, her hand clutching the thin material of his t-shirt as they made indecipherable small talk and sipped drinks from tall glasses. His hand ghosted over the swell of her bottom and within a few minutes their sociable chatter had become whispered sweet nothings in each other’s ears._

_Liam had simply rolled his eyes at the love in unfolding and unscrewed the lid on their second bottle of Grey Goose._

_“Bottoms up!” He shouted over the music, largely drowned out, but the sentiment is there and they all take another shot; clinking their glasses together sloppily before downing them, half of the booze ending up on the floor._

 

“Tommo, you got any food in this place?” Niall asks, getting up off the sofa and wandering through to the kitchen. The clang and bang of the fridge opening and cupboard doors being slammed indicates he’s started searching himself, so Louis lets him get on with it. “Can I make breakfast?” Niall calls from the kitchen, even though he’s obviously already got the frying pan out as it clunks against the hob noisily.

“Yeah, you know where it all is.”

“I do indeed!” Niall sing-songs from the kitchen.

 

_With a bleary eyed looked at his phone, Louis could confirm it was already gone 2am by the time they arrived at Stratton’s – affectionately dubbed Stickies – and he’s excited that he got his way and they’re at a gay club._

_The view is much more pleasing here; dark guys, fair haired guys, tall, short and everything in between. He heads to the bar to buy the round; it’s only fair that he puts his hand in his pocket at some point. He orders them a round of A Yard of Rainbows – literally long, thin plastic vessels measuring a yard long with straws, each containing a different brightly coloured, sticky vodka based alcohol – and heads back to the booth they have gathered within._

_It’s no easy task drinking a Yard of Rainbows. They have to practically lie down once they’re all drinking so as to not impale each other on the weird receptacles, and if Louis spills a good amount of it down him, no one needs to know._

 

“Urgh, I can still taste those bloody Yards of Rainbows, why didn’t someone talk me outta going to Stickies?”

“It was your idea to go!” Liam cries out indignantly.

“What you moanin’ for, you pulled didn’t ya?” Niall says at the same time.

Louis ponders this for a minute. Shamefully, he can’t actually say for sure whether he did indeed pull or not. He pats down his pockets for his phone to check for any incriminating evidence but his pockets are bare; his phone must be in his room. With an embarrassed shrug he hopes they’ll drop it.

“I wonder how many young gentlemen there are wakin’ up across Manchester with his number saved in their phone under ‘ _Ed Sheeran’s mate’.”_ Zayn says with a heart chuckle.

“Oh Christ, give over, please!” Louis says, feeling unprecedentedly embarrassed as he notices Harry bouncing his leg up and down on the spot staring straight ahead. He almost feels like he needs to say sorry.

 

_Liam, backed up by Zayn, heads to the bar for the next round. Much to Louis’ delight, Liam is bombarded by horny, drunk guys as they battle their way back from the bar looking somewhat terrified. Much to Louis’ disappointment, they have bought more Yards of Rainbow’s, rather just double vodka red bulls all round._

_“Drink! Drink! Drink!” They hear Niall from across the room. He’s doing shots with a group of four guys, slapping them on the back and roaring his head off at something one of them said._

_“Well someone’s pulling and it ain’t me!” Louis says matter-of-factly to Harry, who looks around the place in bemusement, saying nothing. He focuses on Louis when he speaks and smiles fondly, but again, says nothing._

 

It’s quite nice to have breakfast served for him; the closest he’s ever got to personal breakfast service is when the lady behind the counter in Greggs hands him his coffee and morning pastry. Niall serves them up grilled sausages, fried bacon, two glossy and perfect yolk eggs, beans, grilled tomatoes and chucks a mountain of toast onto a sixth plate.

“C’mon, don’t you lot have homes to go to?” Louis says, clapping his hands decisively as the last empty plate is pushed away by Harry. He feels much better with breakfast (or should that be brunch) inside him, and he wants them out of his hair so he can shower and then hibernate for the rest of the day.

“Enjoy your walk of shame!” Louis laughs as he reclines back on the sofa and watches everyone else potter around trying to get their arses into gear.

“We didn’t even pull, there’s something wrong there!” Niall mutters as he runs a hand through his messy hair. “At least I haven’t got far to go.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta call in to Remi’s, he owes me some money.” Zayn says with intrigue. He turns to Harry. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“All right, see you in a bit.” Harry nods. Soon after, Sophia arrives to pick up Liam and Niall follows him out to blag a lift.

“I’ll be out of your hair soon, just need to use the loo?” Harry says, but it comes out more like a question. It’s strangely quiet and peaceful now it’s just the two of them, after the ruckus of breakfast.

“Well, don’t uh… don’t feel you need to rush.” Louis says quickly, panicking to find some justification in what he is insinuating.

Harry kind of hovers for a moment before nodding politely and disappearing off to the toilet. Louis cringes and wonder’s when he became so bloody uncool? He hears the toilet flush but Harry doesn’t come back immediately. Maybe he’s escaped out the window and jumped the two floors to freedom.

To save driving himself crazy he gets up and sets about tidying up the plates. He notes that this may well be the first time since he moved that he’s used more than one plate at a time, when his mum, Mark and the girls came for dinner. He doesn’t get as far as running the tap and soaking the plates, just stacking them on the countertop by the sink, the dirty forks all assembled on the top plate. His intentions were good.

When Harry eventually reappears, his hair is off his face in a messy bun.

“Thought you’d escaped down the drain pipe!” Louis cracks when he sees him in the door way.

“Well that wouldn’t be very polite of me now, would it?” Harry chuckles softly.

_Polite_ , Louis thinks. _Bless him._ “Well, as I say, I’m just gonna, um, potter around this place. Tidy up, y’know? You’re welcome to chill for a bit?”

“Okay.” Harry smiles and slides along the laminate floor in his socks to the front room. Discretely, Louis bangs his head against the nearest kitchen cupboard. What the _hell_ is he doing?

*

“C’mon Nimmy, Dooks, foods here! Up you come, Pink.” Louis coos at the fish tank, dropping the stinky little flakes onto the surface. He can’t help but smile almost proudly as the slippery little beings glide up to gobble their food.

“What are they called?” Harry is across the room and by his side in an instant.

“The neon ones are Nimrod and Dookie,” Louis points out the two neon tetras, now well fed and bombing erratically in and out of the fronds of plastic plant. “And the black one is Pinkerton. I think she rather suits her name.”

“You named your fish Nimrod, Dookie and Pinkerton?” Harry asks with an audible quirk in his voice. Louis is prepared to defend himself but when he pulls up from his crouching position and turns to Harry, his face is full of warmth and suddenly all his defences gone. “I love those albums.”

“Me too,” He replies in a hoarse, barely there whisper. He notices suddenly that his heart is racing but he can’t pinpoint the moment when it picked up pace.

“How do you tell which one’s Dookie and which one’s Nimrod?”

“Mostly… I can’t,” He admits. “They’re interchangeable.”

“I see,” Harry says slowly returning his gaze to the aqua wonderland. “That’s really cool.”

They stand staring down at the fish tank for what feels like hours but is probably no more than thirty seconds. Louis channels all his attention to Pinkerton bobbing back and forth against the glass, mouth agape. She knows how Louis feels, she can relate.

This close, Louis can smell the fabric softener that still lingers on Harry’s clothes, and despite his night spent on Louis’ bathroom floor he still smells divine. It mixes with fading traces of his aftershave to create a spicy-floral combo that shouldn’t really work but he finds himself wishing he could bathe in it. Harry brings up a large hand and silently taps his finger against the glass at Pinkerton, the little creature bobbing along seemingly in a rhythm with him; the long, slender digit dancing against the glass softly.

Louis notices Harry’s hand is covered in little cuts and scars from burns that have long since healed. “Scars,” He says softly, touching his own fingertips gently against Harry’s lacerated skin.

“Occupational hazard, I guess,” He says with a soft exhaling laugh, their hands still touching; burning and glowing.

Louis shifts his weight to the other leg and the floorboard croaks beneath them. He returns to his full height and their eyes meet again, the remnants of a smile still upon Harry’s lips. “Wanna sit down?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, his haphazard frame following Louis across the room to the L-shaped dark leather sofa, still sunken down in places from its night time occupants.

Louis settles cross legged into the corner of the sofa, the noticeable wear on the leather and dip in the cushion evidence of his many, many evenings curled up here watching TV, sometimes in the company of a beer, other times not. Harry stays sat forward slightly, his palms pressed together and fingers interlaced as he leans his forearms on his thighs. Louis prods his thigh gently with his socked foot as if to say ‘relax’.

Harry lets out a nervous laugh and a breath he has clearly been holding onto for some time. “Sorry,” He mumbles, raking his fingers back through his tired curls.

He shuffles back some, the leather obnoxiously noisy in the comfy silence. With his hair out of his face, Louis can see him clearly for the first time. His bottom lip shows stress of being constantly chewed, his eyes droop slightly with sheer tiredness presumably, and his shoulders are now droopy as he lounges into the sofa, his body half pointed in Louis’ direction. He doesn’t look comfortable. If anything, he looks petrified.

“Another cuppa then?” He asks softly.

“Please,” Harry’s voice seems a million miles away, alongside his soaring heart. God, when did this bloody happen?

The kettle thunders to a boil, rocking on its base as if it’s about to take off, and he makes two milky cups of tea, one with half a sugar, without Harry needing to remind him. “Tea for two!” he singsongs absent-mindedly as Harry takes the handle.

Harry seems slightly more relaxed with a cup in his hands to distract himself. He gulps down a third of his tea in one sip, and then rests the cup on his knee as they ease into conversation. Harry throws back and laughs throatily with a too wide grin as Louis recites anecdotes about his kids at school.

This animated, laugh out loud funny side to Harry is one that Louis’ noticed is reserved for small groups. He uncurls and becomes vibrant and energetic in the way he laughs, smiles, asks more and more stories.

Perhaps Harry is just humouring him, his stories aren’t _that_ funny are they? He finds himself laughing along too as he tries to speak, almost knocking Harry’s tea clean off his knee. Under the watchful eyes of Nimrod, Dookie and Pinkerton, conversation grows and blossoms, Sky Sports News continues to play on low in the background but little attention is paid.

 

***

 

“I thought you’d got lost or something!” Zayn says with a detectable knowingness in his voice as Harry peers around the door. “Was about to send out a search party!”

“Sorry, I didn’t really, I lost track of time.”

“Hey, no need to explain, I’m jokin’ around mate!” Zayn waves a takeaway menu in the air. “I’m ordering in, up for it?”

Harry considers this for a minute. It’s getting on for six and he’s been awake since twelve. A good solid six hours awake and functioning on about two and a half hours sleep – on a bathroom floor, no less – leaves him feeling distinctly worse for wear and not at all like cooking a proper tea. “Yeah, go on then. I vote pizza!”

“Domino’s or The Hut?” Zayn asks, whipping out his phone.

*

Their pizza-sponsored evening is thoroughly pleasant. The sun sets through the window, drenching the whole place in gentle orange light. The sofa and rug blend in with the sunlight and the whole place reminds Harry of what he expects the inside of a pumpkin to be like.

“This place is like a pumpkin.” He muses out loud. Zayn snorts with a mouthful of pizza.

“I’m gonna go for a smoke?” Zayn says a little while later, though he still sounds like he is asking Harry’s permission.

“Alright, I think I’ll just go lie down or summat. Tired, y’know?” He yawns on cue, his timing impeccable. Zayn nods and waves him off as he grabs his Tupperware and heads for the sun-kissed balcony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

The majority of Louis’ Sunday – aside from the lovely long stretches of time just being in Harry’s company, is wasted being hungover and feeling like he’d been hit by a bus. All too quickly it was Monday again and he was back at it for another week at work.

It started okay; outside was gloriously sunny already with only a mild snap in the air that no doubt would give way soon. The bus was quiet; they must be running two at the same time to make up for a previous delay or something. Scrolling through his text messages, he cringes at the debaucherous conversation he couldn’t remember having with Daniel, rolls his eyes at the nonsense collection of vowels and consonants that he and Zayn had exchanged, clearly understanding each other perfectly in the moment.

The still unsaved contact that had sent him one message saying ‘ _ur dick is so pretty’_ sits horribly at the top of his inbox like some smug King of the Castle. He doesn’t want to be reminded of anything he may or may not have done in the toilets of Stickies, so he takes a stand and taps the rubbish can icon; in a millisecond the short thread is obliterated into nothingness.

He’s slipping into a bit of a grey area. As much as he would like to maintain that if he can’t remember something it didn’t happen, he knows that really he can’t do that. He looks down at those three little letters in his inbox: Dan. Things keep getting messier and messier and he can’t find the strength to cut him loose. But there’s a missing connection; the niggly, nauseous guilt that manifests in him isn’t for Dan, he just wants to forget he ever existed.

*

He can always rely on his kids to make the day better. They certainly help take his mind off his troubles for the morning. There are no (sort of) love triangles or clingy blokes or bad decisions to worry about when you’re four or five. Their innocent little faces shine back at him with glee as he checks the register and asks them about their weekends. Some have more interesting stories than others - or maybe farfetched is a better term.

By lunchtime he’s feeling much better and more awake thanks to the Red Bull he bribed Becky into letting him finish. The afternoon sails by. Each child is given a tray of paints, two brushes, a jam jar of water and safety scissors. They set about selecting the first letter of their name from the options and then cutting and sticking it onto brightly coloured card of their choice and decorating it as they see fit.

As he moves around the room trying to avoid precarious paint brushes and keeping the kids from tipping over their water jars, the sea of bright colours takes him back to Manchester Pride 2006 where he and his boyfriend at the time had painted themselves up in colours of the rainbow, smoked too much and loved too much; the thrill and exhilaration of not having to hold himself back for anyone as vivid in his memory as the colours around him.

He praises the kids around the red table, Leah with her yellow and green striped L and a particularly gloopy looking mess has formed on Marisa’s M. Across the room on the green table, Kai has scrubbed his paintbrush right through the paper, disintegrating strips of purple mush staining the table top.

*

With the smell of acrylic still fresh in his nose, the children pile out at 3pm, the excited chatter and howling of younger siblings Louis’ home calling.

It’s gone four by the time he’s heading out for the bus, one sails past as he crosses the playground so he knows not to rush. He could walk up the street and poke around the shop, treat himself with a bottle of something bubbly and a nice highly calorific cheesy pasta dish.

In the end he does just that. By 7pm he’s one glass down on his white Zinfandel and his Co-Op’s finest pasta ready meal is decanted onto a dinner plate and looks marginally less crap. _White wine makes everything look better_ , he decides.

*

Without Niall and Zayn’s terrible influence, he knows to stop at one glass so wakes up on Tuesday morning not feeling like death. It’s remarkable really. In fact, the rest of the week goes quite well, barring the anonymous dick pic he is sent on Wednesday evening whilst jotting up the next weeks lesson plan.

Thursday evening brings with it housework, as he refuses to do this on a Friday, or a weekend, so it’s now or never, or live with it until next week which although tempting is really too much.

 

***

 

On Wednesday evening, work had phoned Harry and asked him if he wouldn’t mind covering the evening shift on Thursday instead of his regular opening shift. He had accepted and promptly indulged in a lie in (only until 7.30am, but hey, that’s a lie in for him), lazed about on the sofa until 10am, waved Zayn off at eleven and spent the early part of the afternoon playing Fifa. He’d got much better at it with his extra practice sessions and so wasn’t such an embarrassment anymore, as Niall had so delicately put it.

Working at a different time than he’s used to feels like a treat – weirdo – and the four hours fly by. There are no specials in the evening time as they’re obviously already made, so he is assisting Chef with his duties; prepping salads, grating copious amounts of cheese and slicing three different lots of potatoes for chips, wedges and mash.

Come 7pm, he’s out the door with no requirement to wash up or mop the floors or do the cash register, and it feels great. He sneaks an illicit bag of baked goods past Chef and steps out into the balmy evening air. He doesn’t smell like a deep fat fryer for once, so that’s a bonus.

*

Harry didn’t stop to think about whether it would be appropriate to call in at Louis’, he just did it. He stands jittering at the front door, about to consider knocking again when a flustered Louis appears at the door looking perplexed but hopefully pleased to see him.

“Oh, hiya Harry!” He smiles brightly but his eyes suddenly narrow as if anticipating bad news. “Y’ alright?”

“Yeah!” Harry says, almost shouts. “I just, uh, well I worked the afternoon shift and had this, just thought I’d bring you this.” _Smooth, really smooth._

“Well come in. Sorry about the mess!” Louis appears to be mid-Spring clean. The TV is shoved onto mute but was on MTV Dance. The coffee table is pushed to the side with the vacuum cleaner stood upright in the middle of the rug where the table should be and a collection of funky smelling cleaning products are scattered around the room.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you’d be busy.” Harry says, immediately hoping that didn’t sound condescending. “I mean, uh… well, y’know?”

“It’s fine, love!” Louis rakes his fingers through his hair, his pink cheeks and forehead sheen evidence of his hard work. Harry can’t lie and say that the ‘ _love_ ’ part doesn’t flip his tummy like a proverbial pancake. Peering at his hand hopefully, Louis adds, “What’s in the bag?”

He dutifully passes the paper bag to Louis who snatches it away keenly. “It’s a new thing I have been messing about with; Billionaire Shortbread.” Harry watches intently as Louis examines the biscuit. “It’s like a traditional millionaire biscuit, but its salted caramel and-”

“Gold flakes!” Louis interrupts in awe, clearly impressed. He takes a bite and his eyes bulge. Catching a spray of crumbs in his hand, he enthuses “Bloody hell, this is amazing!”

“Thank you,” Harry can’t help but smile, feeling all giddy inside as the biscuit quickly disappears. “Glad you like it. I’ve been given the go ahead to trial them next week at work, so…”

“So you bloody should!” Louis exclaims, dusting off his crumby hands, despite the fact he has clearly just vacuumed. He peers at Harry’s rucksack hopefully. “Got any more?”

“Sadly, no.” He says. Louis pulls a face. “Next week, though, I’m your man.”

“I’ll hold you to that!” Louis’ holds Harry’s smile for a beat and he can think of nothing else. “Do you want a cuppa?”

“Well, I don’t want to hold up your cleaning.”

“Believe me, I’m happy to take a reprieve!” Louis says, easily coaxing Harry into accepting a hot beverage. He gestures for Harry to sit down and disappears into the kitchen.

Harry looks around the place. With the TV on and a messy dinner plate balanced on the edge of the unit, a discarded hoodie and the familiar scent of Louis’ aftershave, the place feels much more homely than it ever has before. Pale sunlight that’s just about to disappear filters in through the two narrow but floor length windows. The curtains hang limp and unmoved but the featherweight blinds sway gently behind them.

He smiles distantly as Louis returns, his knuckles white as he carries in two mugs of tea with concentration and stability. He notes the tip of Louis’ tongue clamped between his lips as he focuses on not spilling the drinks.

“There we are!” Louis’ features relax instantly as Harry safely takes his mug. He jumps back up again and drags the coffee table in at an angle. “Sorry!”

They chat easily and their teas go lukewarm on the coffee table. Harry asks about Nimrod, Dookie and Pinkerton which gets a broad smile from Louis and Harry hopes that that was a good thing to ask. Louis asks how come Harry switched shifts; Harry asked if Louis was looking forward to the school holidays. His answer was yes, of course.

It’s the loud, gurgling rumble of Harry’s belly that draws their evening to a close.

“Sorry!” Harry claps one hand over his mouth and the other around his tiny tummy. “That must mean its tea time!”

“I would invite you to stay but,” He points down at the scrapes left in some unidentified tomato based sauce on his plate. “I don’t think Asda Chosen By You lasagne is quite in your league.”

“I wouldn’t want to burden you.” He says simply, despite the fact that his thoughts are racing ahead of him at a million miles an hour. Before he can embarrass himself more or dig his hole any deeper, he stands up with an awkward slap of his thighs. “I’m sorry to have barged in. Thanks for your positive review of the bicky.”

“Oh, not at all, just call me… uh, well I dunno any food critics, actually. So…” Louis laughs softly at himself.

“I’ll just call you Lou.” Harry says, unintentionally softly and he surprises himself.

“Suits me.” Louis whispers back before everything returns to normal pace and he has to make his way to the door. He awkwardly swings his backpack over his shoulder and gives a tangled wave as he heads towards the staircase. He doesn’t hear the door close behind him but he doesn’t look back to see if Louis is watching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light smut and aggressive language for this chapter  
> Brief Louis/OMC, for the last time!  
> It says a lot that writing the sad angsty stuff comes a lot easier to me than fluff… oh well. C’est la vie.

“And _where_ have you been?” Zayn springs up from his lounging position on the sofa, interrogating Harry immediately before he is fully through the door.

“Um… work?” Harry tries innocently, wondering how much of his hand is revealed at this point.

“Yes, but that was until seven. It’s half nine now.”

“N’aww, were you worried?” He jokes, Zayn’s stern features melting away to a mischievous grin.

“Where were you?” Zayn asks again, ignoring the question.

“I, uh, I popped in to uh, somewhere on the way home.” He says slowly, suddenly feeling the need to bite the inside of his cheek to suppress a grin. “I didn’t keep track of time and what with these lighter evenings now I didn’t really notice it had got so la-”

“H, don’t ramble!” He looks up to see Zayn has covered half his face with his hands, his fingers spaced widely apart so he can still see. When he uncovers his face, Harry notices the far away spaciness shimmering over his eyelids and realises Zayn is stoned. Most of what he says tonight will fall away into meaninglessness anyway, so he _could_ just play it cool. Apparently, he can’t though. “You don’t have to… explain yourself.”

“Sorry I didn’t text or anything. Didn’t realise the time, honest.”

Zayn nods and looks at the carpet, remaining seated. Harry takes it that the conversation is over. He hovers for a moment, suddenly feeling like his organs are too big for his body, his lungs puff up like wet sponges and smother his heart, his ribs cracking under the pressure of the expanse.

“He’s a good bloke, y’know?” Zayn says, unexpectedly.

“Who?” Harry asks, his voice coming out all unprepared and scratchy. Zayn shoots him an unconvinced look and Harry eventually shrugs, giving up his defences. “I know he is.”

Silence ensues again. Zayn returns to his relaxed position across the sofa, feet dangling over one arm rest and his head propped up on the other. He closes his eyes and breathes heavily. Harry watches his hands gently rise and fall as they rest against his belly.

”Don’t watch me.” Zayn says suddenly, curt but amused at the same time.

Harry laughs out loud and Zayn smirks, still with his eyes closed. “Sorry!”

Harry suddenly remembers he was hungry when his tummy rumbles again. He vaults off the sofa and leaps across the room to the kitchen, hitting the jackpot with a takeaway container full of Zayn’s leftover curry. Without asking, he throws it in the microwave and peers into the cupboards for a naan bread, to no avail.

*

_The sheets he writhes around on top of are crisp, fresh and white. The ceiling he peers up at is a glossy mahogany panelled one with an intricate, dusty chandelier that twinkles. He refocuses as ‘Dream Louis’ comes into view, strong finger tips press into his chest in support of the tanned torso and long arms and frankly beautiful face. Backlit and glowing like an angel, Louis rocks his hips as he sinks down to scatter buttery soft kisses from the very periphery of his shoulder, across his collar bones then meeting in the middle to come up the column of his neck. The goose bumps that follow the trail of Dream Louis’ kisses feel so real. The pillowy softness of lips and the red hot scratch of golden scruff is an almost tangible realness in the midst of this dream world._

_He murmurs something that Harry can’t make out but he agrees anyway, Dream Louis wrapping a small but steady hand around the back of his thigh then disappearing from his line of vision and a white hot surge of something eager and tantalising shoots from his cock right up, through his whole body as he disappears into Louis’ mouth. Somewhere far in the distance something is rumbling, what the hell is that? The non-stop buzzing gets closer and Louis suddenly pops off his tip and apparently out of the window like some sort of sexy Peter Pan…_

The slow and steady vibration pierces through his sub-conscious, the embers of his red-hot dream fading away as he tears open his eyes to find himself alone in his own bed in his own room with that bloody incessant noise still whirring.

It’s his phone alarm vibrating on the floor, feeble in its efforts to wake him up and actually get him out of bed. He doesn’t need to look down or give himself the once over to know just how bloody hard he is in his trackies. He feels like a teenager again, waking up aching and rock solid desperately trying to hold onto the fleeting memories of a dream.

“Bloody coffee before bed…” Harry mutters to himself as he carefully swings his legs out of bed and pats around in the hazy dawn light for his noisy phone.

After turning off the alarm and grimacing at the time, he pulls himself up and staggers across to the window, slipping behind the curtains so his forehead rests on the cool glass. He could fall asleep again, even stood up, leaning against the glass and propped up on his elbows. He could sleep anywhere, standing up, sitting on a garden chair, on cardboard boxes… in Louis’ bed?

_Perish the thought,_ he thinks to himself, shaking his head and remembering Zayn’s cryptic little exchange last night.

 

***

 

Louis flicks the bedside light on aggressively and throws the covers back, rising to his feet and stalking to the window. He looks down to the empty streets below, cupping his scruffy chin in his hands and resting his elbows on the sill. Goose bumps chase a shiver around his body as he leans in, inches from the chilly window pane. He feels his eyelids start to droop so he clambers hopefully back into bed.

Sleep doesn’t come. He stares at the shadow of his hoodie slung over his wardrobe door for so long it develops a face and presence that makes him go rigid. He’s not scared; he’s twenty nine years of age for Christ sake. If he could just switch off and go to sleep that’d be great. It’s getting on for three thirty; Harry would be waking up soon wouldn’t he? For his unbelievably early start. Imagine that, his day beginning while the majority of the rest of the population is still snoozing. He’d be starting to lose that lovely deep sleep. He’d be stirring, background noises pushed to the periphery during sleep would slowly creep back into the forefront of his mind and he’d soon be awake… _Christ_ , _periphery, forefront… you do chat some shit you idiot,_ he thinks to himself.

He must have drifted off at some point, because the next thing Louis knows he is being awoken by the bastard scream of his phone alarm. For a few seconds he’s completely disorientated. His hands flail around on the spare side of the bed, but of course there’s no one there. Begrudgingly, he hauls himself out of bed and staggers to the wardrobe. He slumps his cheek rather unattractively against the cold wooden surface and seconds or minutes pass in an unconscious daze. With a sudden judder his eyes shoot open and he wipes away a trickle of drool that he’d expelled. Really, thank Jesus there _was_ no one to witness this sorry tale.

He actually has breakfast for a change, but it sits heavily in his tummy as he waits for the bus. The rhythmic chug of the bus and the heating that is inexplicably chucking out of the heaters make for a wholly unenjoyable bus experiences and he’s nauseous with a headache before he even gets to work.

*

Louis trudges across the dry grassy expanse of the playing fields, working himself up into a frenzy. The more he thinks about it, the more he feels he can’t move. Why can’t the bus stop be nearer to his flat? Why can’t he have a car? Why can’t he say bloody no?

Every step he takes feels like he’s wading through custard, slowing him down and adding even more pressure onto him. He has, for some reason, accepted Dan’s offer of dinner, even though it’s a Wednesday evening and really he should be marking or planning or sitting at home watching his trio of fish swim around their tanks.

By the time he gets to the second floor and is frantically searching for his keys, he’s got forty minutes to get ready and his legs feel like jelly. He wastes thirteen of those minutes standing under the spray of the shower counting the number of tiles per row on his bathroom wall.

He selects his darkest navy chinos and wanders aimlessly around his bedroom shirtless as he tries to find the enthusiasm to complete his outfit. Trickles of water fly off the ends of his sodden fringe as he moves, sending chills through his now dry and skin.

Ultimately, he gets out his seldom used hair dryer as time is definitely not on his side. With his hair styled into a safe and familiar quiff, he’s three quarters to being ready. He catches a glimpse of himself in the full length mirrored door of his wardrobe. The awkward evening light distorted by his net curtains makes him look tanned and shadows pool in the dip of his collar bones and under the jut of his hipbones. He touches a finger to a small, fading lovebite in the area, his stomach lurching with the memory and not in a good way.

He settles on his powder blue shirt with the subtle white pattern to it and covers himself up immediately. With little conviction, he shoves his feet into his grey Chelsea boots, throws on a jacket, pats himself down for phone, wallet and keys, and heads out the door.

*

Nothing on the menu looks appealing, so he goes with the chicken as it sounds the least awful. Hopefully the wine in the mushroom sauce will help in getting him drunk enough he will actually make it through this evening without doing something desperate and stupid.

His first glass of white goes down well, and he is at least happy that Dan flags down the waiter for a top up. Small talk becomes a bit easier the more liquid encouragement he has.

The chicken is passable; though he’s sure his buzz is coming from the liquid in his glass, not the liquid over his chicken. Shame. As their plates sit finished, Dan excuses himself and Louis let’s go of a deep-seated sigh of relief for the minute or two alone.

He feels like people are watching him, but reassures himself that no one cares about him; they’re too wrapped up in their own goings on. He stares down at a tiny twist of discolouration in the leg of his chinos as he chews on the skin around his thumb. Dan will be back from the toilet any minute now so he doesn’t have long. Quickly he pulls out his phone and peers at the photo of Niall's selfie that they'd all photobombed. Zayn piled on Niall's shoulders, the indistinct blur named Liam who had been mid-way through jumping onto Niall's lap, himself and Harry peeking round either side of Zayn; Harry’s hair tumbling in his eyes and smile broad. The whole thing is a blurry mess and many questions were posed when he asked Niall to Bluetooth it to him, but it made him smile so hard that when Daniel came back he immediately picked up on it. 

"Pleased to see me back?"  He asks with a self-assured, smug grin as he sits down. It instantly rubs Louis the wrong way.

_Nice piss?_ Louis is tempted to say, be a sarcastic little fucker and try and drive Dan away without having to do the dirty himself. Instead, he forces a smile. "Of course."

He picks up his recently re-filled glass, effectively stopping Dan from reaching over and taking his hand.

“Did I tell you how much I like you in blue?” Dan asks, rolling the bottom edge of his own almost empty glass along the table top with a cheeky grin that several months ago would have been enough for Louis on its own.

Forcing a smile, he looks up. “Thanks, you’re too kind.”

“Did you wanna head out to one of the bars, shame to end the night here?” Dan suggests, still with that suggestive smile.

Without taking his eyes off Dan, but gripping the edge of the white table cloth until his knuckles hurt, Louis puts on a brave face and nods. “Yeah, alright. Sounds good.”

*

Really, it’s just more of the same with different scenery. He can appreciate the aesthetic appeal of this place. Lanterns hang from the rafters and strategically placed outdoor heaters warm the deck so it’s appropriate for year-round outdoor dining.

The seating is low and comfy; he backs up onto it with little grace and tucks one leg under the other as Dan settles in next to him. He clutches his third… fourth (?) glass of wine – he’s lost count – for safety as Dan runs his fingers along the inside of his thigh as they talk.

Before long, Dan moves the conversation on to somewhere very blue. Internally, Louis rolls his eyes and tries not to noticeably sigh. There’s obviously just one thing on Dan’s mind.

Conversely, Louis’ mind is currently contemplating Dan’s all-black ensemble. Reminds him of someone… Dan’s short hair doesn’t do anything but sit on his head, it has zero character, unlike chocolate brown curls that can sit up top in a messy bun or be pushed back by a loop of red elastic. Black shirts and dark jeans aren’t faded band tees or checked shirts or funky fluffy cardigans that scream life or character.

“C’mon, let’s get back to yours.”

*

The walk from the taxi, up the stairs to his flat gives Louis’ ample opportunity to nip this in the bud but he doesn’t. As they burst through the door, Dan has him pinned against the wall with one hand on the small of his back and the other in his hair. It is almost obscene the way their tongues dance around each other’s mouths, hips thrust together as their equally hard cocks press together. Louis breaks away and whimpers non-words breathily into Dan’s ear as he grabs blindly at his arse through his jeans.

That gets a very vocal affirmation from Dan. “It drives me crazy when you do that, you remember how h*rd that gets me, yeah?” He utters into their kiss. “If only you were this good at remembering to text me back!”

It doesn’t sound fun or flirty or casual at all. It sounds threatening, menacing. Louis mentally scans back to the last time he actually replied to one of Dan’s texts, but can’t actually remember. Damn, he wishes he had a clear head. Dan’s hands are pestering him before he can regain focus. He cranes his neck so Dan can nuzzle into him. Dan’s hands make their way down his body and start undoing his shirt.

Louis keens into it, allowing Dan to suck an angry red bite into his collar bone, low enough that it won’t show at work but that’s hardly a redeeming feature, and it reminds him that he is indeed a terrible person. He makes a few feeble attempts to voice his protest but they’re in vain to begin with.

“D-Dan, stop, love…” He manages to utter, Dan coming to an abrupt halt with his lips pressed against the column of Louis’ neck just ready to suck in another lovebite.

“Stop?” Dan asks hoarsely, the look in his eyes maniacal and Louis isn’t sure whether its anger building or lust. “You wanna take this elsewhere?”

Louis looks at him and with trepidation masked by confidence that he _certainly_ doesn’t really feel. He swallows his nerves and holds his head up high. “No. This isn’t workin’ anymore.”

He promptly unwraps his leg from around Dan’s and looks away as Dan goes off. Things just explode from there. Just like the way Dan had changed the first time they blew each other, he changed when he was angry too. “What, you thought you could just make a mug of me, did ya?” Dan sneers down at him, their faces mere centimetres from each other. Louis wishes for a moment that this wasn’t happening.

“No, I’m tryin’ to do this right…”

“Oh well aren’t you a gem!” Dan roars, turning away with his hand wrapped around the back of his neck,. before spinning back round. “There someone else, yeah? What, I was just your fucking play thing ‘til the other one stopped dicking around and decided to give you a chance, was I?”

“No!” _That isn’t how it is._ “It’s not like that.” He feels his skin start to itch as his temper rises.

“Really, Louis?” Dan spits, shaping his face with his hands in an obvious attempt to stop himself lashing out. “So you’ve been a bit of a slag, is that what you’re saying? Cuz it seems that way to me. Months this been goin’ on for has it? How long you been playin’ us both?”

“I haven’t, its not… its not that.”

“Bullshit, you’re a nasty, dirty little liar.”

Louis clamps his own hand around his neck, over the skin that still prickled and burned from Dan’s day old scruff. He flinches and his eyes flicker as Dan crashes about around him.

“Please just go?” Louis whispers, crossing his arms over his body and sinking back against the wall, wishing he could melt into the plasterboard and disappear.

“Why?” Dan snarls wickedly. “Is boyfriend number two on his way? Would hate a confrontation, wouldn’t ya, you disgusting slut.”

Louis keeps his head ducked and decides that maybe saying nothing would be the best way to go. Turns out, it’s not. Louis’ silence only infuriates Dan more. He grabs Louis’ bicep and shakes him in an angry attempt to get him to react. Pale fingertip shaped marks are left where his grip was. Instinctively, Louis covers the marks with his own hand and makes a lunge for the door handle.

“Get out!” He says firmly, though he feels entirely terrified. “Don’t come back.”

With the door open and their argument susceptible to the neighbours hearing, Dan simmers down to a menacing snarl. “Don’t fuckin’ worry about that!” Louis hears him shout back as the door slams downstairs.

Once the front door is closed and he’s alone again in the heavy atmosphere, frustration overcomes him and he throws his fist into the nearest surface. “Fuck sake!” He curses as pain begins to bloom in his knuckles.

He throws his head back forcefully, the contact with the firm wall sending a dull ache through his already weary head. Feeling every inch the sad, pathetic cliché, he slides down the wall and tucks his knees up under his chin, hugging him legs tightly. His heart beats too fast and too hard and with the constricted position he has curled himself into, he finds it hard to breathe.

He jumps out of his skin when the loud shrill of his mobile phone leaps into his conscious a moment or two later. He considers letting it ring, but ultimately drags himself across the slippery floor to his jacket slung over the unit.

“Tomlinson!” Liam booms down the line, clearly quite jubilant. “I was about to give up!”

“Uh, no Li, sorry just… couldn’t find me phone.” Louis lies, hoping the tired lilt of his voice and the audible crack between ‘Li’ and ‘sorry’ isn’t picked up on.

“Lou?” Liam’s voice narrows and the TV that had been buzzing in the background Liam’s end is suddenly shoved onto mute. “What’s the matter? Why do you sound sad?”

It takes a moment, a moment where Louis teeters between crying and not crying. A lump in his throat prevents him from immediate response, vocal memories of the last hour’s events replaying loudly in his ears. In the end, he can’t stop a silent tear from escaping; clouding his vision and making everything swim before it drops off his eyelash onto his cheek. “It’s all gone to shit, Li.”

“Lou, what’s happened mate, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come over?”

_Yes_ , he thinks. It’s all he wants is something familiar and safe and commonplace. In a voice as tiny as his current level of self-worth, he whispers, “Yes please.”

*

In no time at all, his buzzer is going. As he waits at the open door, multiple footsteps ascend the stairs at once; a concerned, floppy haired looking Liam leading the way followed by a dishevelled version of Zayn not one nanosecond behind him, and then straight faced Sophia behind them, careful in her high heeled boots.

“Lou, what the hell has happened?” Zayn ushers him back inside and slams the door closed.

He can’t find the words, he just stares around his group of friends that make him feel so warm inside.

“Lou, _what’s_ goin’ on?” Liam leads Louis to the sofa and forces him to bend his legs and sit; he feels like a tiresome pet dog. The boys sit either side of him while Sophia perches on the edge of his coffee table. Zayn rests an awkward hand on his shoulder and peers in at Louis as if he’s fell from the sky with a space suit on.

“I cut ties with Dan,” He begins with a heavy heart, staring so hard into the nothingness that everything around him in this cruel reality goes blurry and distorted.

He sees Zayn’s eyes pick up the hand shaped mark on his arm and the flare that illuminates within them is real. “Did he fuckin’ touch you, what’s going on Lou?”

“Not really,” Louis replies meekly, covering the marks with his hand but he can’t help but look over to the Louis’ sized gouge in the wall. Liam turns to look too, his hands visibly shaking. He shakes his head to quell their suspicions. “That was me. I did that.”

“Lou, you best not be fucking lying to me.” Zayn’s delivery is aggressive but there’s nothing but concern and love behind his words. Louis nods as another tear escapes down his face, landing on his trouser leg. He watches the droplet expand into the fabric.

“For the last fucking ten years I’ve just wasted time goin’ from one dickhead to the other, never knowing anything more than the size and shape of their fucking cocks! There has to be more to life than that, I’m almost bloody thirty!” 

Zayn looks back at him dumbfounded. “I had no idea that kinda thing bothered you.”

“It does…” Louis says, slumping his shoulders and staring down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “I don’t… I don’t get why…”

“Why what, babe?” Sophia leans forward and claps two of her hands around his, the pads of her thumbs rubbing soothing little circles into his skin. Under normal circumstances, they’d probably joke about how they have the same sized hands.

“Why I can’t just… find someone and have all that?” Louis drops his eyes so he doesn’t have to see their pitying faces. Is this Rock Bottom? It feels like Rock Bottom.

“I can’t spend the rest of my life shaggin’ random idiots, I just can’t. I should be settled by now but it’s not fuckin' happening! I should be… I should be with…” Louis can feel his anger and frustration rising inside him again as he trails off, suddenly not wanting to finish that sentence, ever.

“Lou, honestly! You need to calm down, you’ve got plenty of time for all that!” Liam tries to calm him

“That’s fine for you to say, you’ve got everything!” Louis says before he realises quite what the implication is. He feels another punch to his gut as Liam and Sophia exchange a quick glance. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that…”

“I know you didn’t, babe.” Sophia’s grip around his hands is unwavering, which he appreciates. He looks up to send her a small, apologetic smile that she returns.

“Louis, can I say summat?” Zayn says cautiously. “Objectively?” 

Louis looks round at him and nods gently. He doesn’t notice that he’s been holding his breath for a fair few seconds now. “Okay…” 

“D’you think maybe… well what you’re lookin’ for might be, I dunno? Closer than you think?” 

Louis’ facial features collapse into a soft smile that’s a mixture of relief and fear and amusement. “Are you trying to ask me out, Zayn?” 

The temporary lightening of the mood is a great relief, and they all share a soft chuckle. Zayn’s smile reflects in Louis’ and he squeezes his knee reassuringly.  “Y’know what I’m tryin’ to say, Lou.” 

For a moment he stills. He hadn’t really been prepared for this today, still thought it was a few weeks or even months away. But he nods again and smiles. He’s given himself away. “Yeah, I do.”

Nothing else is required for a few minutes; they just sit in contemplative quiet as Louis attempts to slow his breathing back down to normal. He puffs his chest up with deep in breaths then lets them go steadily, his mind clearing slowly.

“Don’t say anything to him, _please_?” Louis says, directly at Zayn. He looks more sincere than Louis has _ever_ seen him and in that moment he realises that yes, this might just be the most genuine thing he has felt, maybe ever. “I’m just not ready for... the ‘talk’ just yet, y’know? It could end bad.” 

“It won’t end bad.” Zayn says confidently, and Liam nods.

“You don’t know that.” Louis says, taking in Zayn’s knowing smirk and suddenly feeling his palms itch. “What do you know that I don’t, Malik?” 

“Nothing, nothing!” Zayn exclaims, holding up his hands, and “Nothing specific, nothin’ definitive. I just… I dunno I’ve seen the way you two are. ” 

“Great, and here’s me worrying you were gonna be vague or summat!” Louis rolls his eyes fondly. 

“It’s just like, a presence, I dunno? I’m hardly Mr Romantic meself,” he pauses and they all nod. “I just know what I saw. H’s always different when you’re around; not as jumpy or sad looking.” 

“You’re gonna make me cry, stop!” Louis cries, jokingly wiping away tears from his left eye, imaginary this time. 

“Look, stop bein’ a twat and start thinkin’ about what you’re gonna do. I mean, I take it you _are_ interested, yeah?” Zayn says bluntly, and Sophia reaches over the slap his leg with a playful roll of her eyes.

Louis goes momentarily coy, feeling like a teenager with a crush again. It’s safe to say it’s been a long, long time since he felt anything like this feeling. Sheepishly, he admits “Yeah, course.” 

“Well then, get off your arse and do summat about it.”

“I will, I will! Just… gimme time yeah?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed. Good things are on the horizon now!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested, I imagine Becky to be a curly haired, brunette version of Sprinkleofglitter (Louise) from Youtube.  
> Fertility discussions and a lot of miserable Louis in this chapter but it will get better – much, much better – for our lad soon!

Louis’ buoyancy lasts all of about ten minutes once he’s alone again in his flat. Liam had had to be escorted out of the door in the end; Zayn with his hands firmly around his shoulders as Sophia tottered behind them. Liam’s endless concern for Louis’ wellbeing is both a flaw and a feature.

With nothing left to do, he slinks out of his clothes and crawls into bed in just his boxers and socks. He hears his phone go off at least ten times before he switches to Silent and continues to pretend he is just about to fall asleep.

Fifteen minutes pass and he’s still not asleep. His phone is practically radiating in the dark of the room, tempting him like a devil. Scolding himself, he thrashes over onto his side and picks up the damned device. As predicted, he has three voicemails and six texts. He dials his voicemail and presses 7 to delete before the message can begin playing. The text messages go unread as he reaches down under his bed and tosses his phone out of reach. He winces as the device skids across the floor and hits the skirting board, but he's past the point of wanting to check to see if it's okay.

He flings the covers off him and stomps across to the bathroom, hopping across the cold tiles to seek refuge on the fluffy bathmat. As he waits for the shower to go from chilly to tepid, he examines himself in the harsh, artificial light. Luckily the marks from on his arms have faded somewhat and the situation on his hips can be avoided by simply not looking. He timidly holds a hand under the spray before pulling off his boxers and climbing over the edge of the bath.

The water hits his back; a pathetic, lukewarm at best spray that tickles rather than rejuvenates. He certainly doesn’t hesitate to squirt a splodge of shampoo into his palm and lather up; the faster the better, in his opinion. With his hair whipped up into a lather, he submerges himself under the spray. As the suds slip away he realises he’s crying. It’s only a gentle sob and he washes away the tears before they can settle on his cheek. He feels pathetic. _This_ feels like rock bottom.

He covers every inch of skin that makes him feel ashamed him with mint chocolate Original Source shower gel and leans forward to rest his head on the tiles.

As soon as he steps out of the shower he's freezing cold again, his threadbare old Euro '96 towel no match for his heating-less flat. He stands miserably in the middle of his hallway, listening to the wall clock tick. His skin is beginning to dry but his hair is still saturated and drips steadily down his body and onto the wooden floor.

Realisation pulls him out of his trance. He heads straight to his room, pulls on some old trackies, forgoing underwear, and drops onto his front. He reaches under the bed for his phone, ignoring the dust and forgotten articles that are now existing under his bed.

He curls up against his bedside table with his back to the edge of the bed. He scrolls through the phone book, knowing exactly who he wants. He clears his throat as the call connects; his voice is scratchy and dry as he realises he hasn't uttered a single word in hours.

Four rings.

"Hi mum.”

*

The conversation with his mum almost kills him. _‘Oh my God, Louis love, I’ve missed your voice so much, are you okay?’_ It had been almost three months since he properly spoke to his mum, other than the odd cursory text, and calling her at past midnight on a Wednesday night in floods of tears probably isn’t the best way to reintroduce communication. _“Mum, I need your help.”_

He choked back a hard sob and started with the first date with Dan; it seems like a good place to start. He has no idea how to introduce the idea of Harry. What could he even refer to him as? It hits him mid-sentence that Harry has never given him any indication that he is interested. Not just interested in him, but interested in men in any way. What if he’s made a huge mistake? What if all four of them, Zayn, Liam, he _and_ Sophia are all wrong and Harry is just too polite to tell Louis he’s barking up the wrong tree? _“Love?”_ His mum speaks and breaks his day dream. He gushes an embarrassed apology, painfully aware that this is the most he and his mum have _ever_ discussed his relationships. He’s not sure why it should be any different to discussing a girlfriend or a wife, but somehow it just feels different. He’d never been too candid about his sexuality. Not to his _mum_ , at least.

It had taken fifteen minutes or so to convince his mum she didn't have to come and stay with him. By the time he ended their call - all fifty seven minutes and thirty nine seconds of it – his face was tight with dried tears and around his thumb nail was bleeding from being picked, but he did feel better; his shoulders didn't feel so knotted and tense. Sleep is finally coming.

The text messages and Voicemails remain ignored as he channels his depleting concentration into setting his alarms for work. He sets three alarms: 6:15, 6:20 and 6.30; depressed at the prospect of only getting four hours sleep, even though he’ll definitely ignore the first alarm, completely not hear the second alarm, and jump out of bed ten minutes _after_ the third one in a whirlwind of panic.

*

He practically crawls into Greggs the next morning, the silver and gold coins in his palm blurring into obscurity as he tries and tries again to focus on counting them out.

There’s a bit of a queue and Louis half-wonders whether it’s worth it, but his feet move forward in the queue rather than back towards the doors. A coffee and an iced doughnut set him back £2.25 and he tosses an unidentified handful of shrapnel change back into his wallet and shoves it in his bag.

His phone vibrates against his leg, but fearing the worst he leaves it until he’s perched on the low level wall opposite the row of bus stops to look at it. He briefly remembers many a drunken night sitting here, kebab in hand, waiting for a taxi that would be split five ways and take them on a cross country tour before dropping him home to crawl into bed, alone naturally.

Tentatively, he pulls his phone out and slides the notification bar down. With a sigh and a chuckle, relief washes over him as he sees Harry’s name and the barrage of emoji’s that follow those five lovely little letters.

_‘Stay away from Greggs xx’_

He sees Harry has added on the pokey-out-tongue emoji and his expression changes immediately.

_‘………… Can you see me? xx’_

He replies, adding both the side-eyes and the doughnut emoji’s. He knows full well Harry is at work, but he still looks over his shoulder cautiously.

_‘No, I’m just a good guesser. I could save you something yummy here if you like? xx’_

_Yummy_ , Louis thinks, smiling like a mad man. Is this flirting?

_'Got an iced donut, not a patch on yours I must say xx'_

_'Well im very happy to hear that, but know that I cannot condone donuts for breakfast xx'_

_‘I do apologise xx’_

_‘I’ll hook you up xx’_

_‘You sound like a drug dealer xx’_

_‘A cake dealer? Is that cool? xx’_

_‘Not really love xx’_

_‘Bugger. Well, I never was a cool kid. Have a good day, see you soon? xxx’_

It’s a question, like an invitation. Is Harry requesting that they see each other soon, not just leave it to chance and see what happens? That tiny little piece of punctuation sends Louis into a frenzy; so much so that his reply takes ten minutes and several attempts, and it’s still lame.

_‘You too, don’t eat too many pies! Speak soon xxx’_

*

The God’s that he doesn’t believe in must be on his side because his kids are all well behaved; even the terrible twosome Jackson and Jayden.  He kind of wishes he wasn’t surrounded by five year olds because he’s dying to talk to someone about the mixed up plate of spaghetti known as his feelings. At lunchtime, he looks for Becky in the staff room but on the day that he actually wants to chat, wants someone to bug him for details, she's nowhere to be found.

Feeling rather deflated, he flops ungracefully down onto the sofa and tips his head back to rest on the back. Within a moment, he’s back on his feet, rooting around in his bag for his wallet. Pitifully, he counts out three ten pence’s, one twenty and a handful of coppers. He’d given his last pound coin to the dragon in Greggs that morning, he remembers miserably.

Despite knowing full well there’s nothing in the vending machine under £1, he peers in at the glass with his hand outstretched.

“Alright, love?” Becky bounds in at that moment, luckily without anyone else to witness his predicament. She pulls up alongside him, peering in at the rows of crisps and chocolate bars. “What’re we having?”

“Uh…” he sheepishly holds out his handful of change and feels a blush creep into his cheeks. “Not much?”

“Oh, love!” Becky exclaims with a giggle, though she is completely understanding and genuine. “’Ere, what do you fancy?”

He protests weakly but ends up with a Kit Kat and a bag of tangy cheese Doritos. Matched with his doughnut breakfast, he feels just _great_ right about now. Really good. “I’ll pay you back, I swear!”

“Just don’t leave the country!” Becky giggles as she rustles open her own Walker’s cheese and onion. “Sorry for the pong!”

He waves dismissively and opens his own equally potent crisps.

“So what’s new with Lou?” Becky asks, proud of her rhyming skills.

How does he start? What can he say? He’s lucky that Becky doesn’t know any of the major players in his story personally, so the risk of future humiliation is limited. “Had a pretty loaded weekend.”

“What?” She asks, her wide eyes sparkling. She pushes a brunette curl back behind her ear and reminds him again of his Harry. Harry.

“Remember, y’know, the guy I was telling you about? Not Dan-”

“Cupcake man?” Becky interrupts, setting her crisp packet down on her thigh to clap. She actually claps. “Spill, Tommo!”

“I’ve told them, y’know, that I’m interested.”

“ _Them_?” Becky asks, twisting her pink lips into a confused spiral. “Who’s them?”

“My friends.”

“Lou, we’re not twelve! What do you _mean_ you’ve told your friends? Are you gonna get one of them to ask him out for you? Pass him a note?”

“No!” Louis exclaims with a giggle, sucking Dorito flavouring off his thumb and forefinger. “It’s, it’s complicated, y’know? But I ended things with Dan.”

“For real this time?” She asks sceptically. She has heard that one before.

He nods earnestly. “Definitely. Didn’t go down well. Surprised me actually.”

“What was his reaction?”

“Mostly angry. Accused me of lot of stuff. Called me a nasty little slut.”

“Slut?” She squawks, her eyebrows shooting up. “Well, that’s entirely inaccurate! What did you say to that?”

Louis thinks back to the confrontation, whimpering and nervous as all six foot plus of Dan towered over him and all he could do was tense up and clamp his eyes closed as he forced him back against the wall. “Not much.”

“Are you okay?” Her kind eyes narrow and she wraps her small, soft hands around his clenched fist. “Honestly?”

He nods, feeling let down again like a balloon at the end of the party. “I feel stupid.” He admits sadly, feeling her squeeze his hand gently.

“Lou, you’re the loveliest man I’ve ever met, second only to me dad.” She pauses and he laughs wistfully. “You deserve better than a man who’s gonna treat you badly.”

“What if I’ve got this wrong, though?” He asks sadly, suddenly feeling all the air drop out of his sails. The concerns he had raised with his mum are back and nipping at all of his edges. “Harry, I mean. He hasn’t even hinted that he’s interested. What if I’m barking up the wrong tree?”

“Your mate wassisname, Zayn? He said he’s keen?” Louis nods unsurely. “So maybe just go for it? Take a leap of faith?”

He considers this for a moment, realises he has been bouncing his foot on the ground and stops. Dryly, he exhales a laugh. “Very inspirational, that Beck!”

Becky leans forward to cup his hand in hers, wafting her perfume in his face in the process. Her round and perfectly made up face shines back at him and he has to swallow back a lump in his throat. “Seriously, Louis, go for it love.”

He nods but won’t commit to anything, the lump in his throat restricting him from making any sensible moves. Becky retracts her hand and proceeds to ball up her crisp packet; tossing it towards the bin and missing spectacularly.

“Close!” Louis says instead, smiling fondly as she flounces across the room in her yellow summer dress. He feels the impact of the metaphorical sunshine that radiates from her and regains another ounce of happiness. Pulling out his phone, he shoots Harry another text before lunchtime runs out and he has to return to the classroom.

 

***

 

The nice weather always brings less sit-down custom but more footfall. He’s already had a garbled request from one of the waitresses for more sandwich bread, and it’s only ten am. Luckily, there’s no fewer than 24 loaves of different varieties in the bread cupboard, so he can focus on his list for the day: caramel shortbreads and iced fingers. For practice, he’s whipped up a carrot cake and slipped it onto a stand to send downstairs. The girls on the counter usually cope well with his unexpected additions, and when he nips downstairs briefly he’s glad to see all but about three slices gone.

The first two hours of work before the rest of the world starts waking up are always his least productive, but after the sun comes up and everything around him bursts into life, he feels better. A small mixing bowl with enough batter for just four doughnuts sits sunning itself on the window sill, a project that he wants to start but out of principle puts on the backburner until the things he’s actually being _paid_ to bake are done.

He whistles a tune to himself as he and Ellen move around the kitchen with well-practiced coordination that they’ve perfected over the years. She doesn’t ask what all this extra baking is in aid of, and she doesn’t reprimand him when she spies him preparing dough balls.

“Treats for someone special?” Ellen asks, slinging a tea towel over her shoulder and resting her hip against the metal countertop.

He blushes instantly, hoping he can blame it on the heat. “Oh, well… sorta yeah.”

“And does this person know how special they are?”

“I hope so.” Harry says truthfully. He hopes Louis _does_ know just how much Harry thinks of him. Harry thinks that everyone should like Louis the way he does. “He’s… well I hope he knows.”

“I’m sure he will be very happy. Your jam doughnuts are second to none.” She smiles softly and doesn’t press him for more information, which he is grateful about. He feels a bit weird talking about someone to Louis in this way. His crush, or whatever it is that he feels for Louis, is as of right now unrequited as far as he’s concerned.

Keen to change the subject, he throws back his head and chuckles raucously. “These doughnut based compliments are gonna gimme a big head.”

*

“Hi-ho!” Zayn greets him merrily, appearing in the front room as if by magic. All he needs is a puff of smoke and he’d be set. “What’s that?”

The cardboard box of assorted goodies that Harry’d snuck out of work is a bit worse for wear by the time he pulls it out of his rucksack. He sets it down on the kitchen counter, but quickly moves it. He doesn’t want Zayn nicking a bun before he’s had a chance to offer them to Louis.

“Nothing.” Harry says quickly, reaching into his bag for the scones he’d brought for general consumption. “Here’s yours, scavenger.”

Zayn’s eyes light up as he delves into the bag. “You know, you make the munchies _sooo_ much easier to deal with!”

Harry eyes the fragrant stub of a joint lying extinguished in the ashtray. “I want no part in your illegal activities, Malik.”

Zayn just laughs, holding the scone in the air to spread the jam, rather than putting on the chopping board like Harry wishes he would.

With a mouthful he nods towards the crushed box Harry has stashed on top of the fridge freezer. “Who are those for?”

Harry doesn’t answer, unsure how to, to be honest. He bites the inside of his cheek fiercely as he tries to ignore the grin that has crept up on Zayn. “They’re just… spares.”

“So can I have one?” Zayn asks, and Harry is sure by the look on his face that Zayn is f*cking with him. His smarmy, smug smirk is infuriating. “ _Pretty_ please?”

“No, bugger off.”

“Why?” Zayn asks with a snort.

“You… y’just can’t, okay?” Harry says, his cheeks flushing scarlet as he wishes Zayn would just drop it.

“Why?” Zayn asks again, his persistence not wavering. “Who are they for if I can’t have one?”

“You’ve got a scone.” Harry points to the last bite of jam scone between Zayn’s thumb and index finger.

“I wanna know what’s in the bag. You’ve made it all mysterious, y’know? I gotta know.” Zayn is stubborn, Harry will give him that.

“It’s… look, shut up _please_?”

“No!” Zayn audibly howls with laughter before suddenly straightening up. “H, if you’re gonna make a move, do it. He won’t let you down.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest but Zayn gives him a pointed look and he shuts his mouth again. Suddenly, the words feel like thick like smoke from a house fire, quickly filling the room and suffocating him.

“How can you be so sure?” His voice is so small and so gentle that it’s almost non-existent.

“Harry,” Zayn starts boldly. His eyes are focussed and the act that he was putting on earlier is gone in a flash. “Last night, after you’d gone to bed, me and Li an’ Soph went to Louis’.”

Harry swallows thickly and nods, the pause absolutely killing him. “Is he okay?”

“No.” Zayn says pensively. “That d*ckhead Dan really did a number on him-”

“What?” Harry interrupts, his palms instantly starting to itch with panic as he thinks back to their earlier text conversations. He had _seemed_ fine; had Harry missed something?

“Yeah, I don’t really know what happened but this bloke completely flipped out at him, I swear, if I see him in the street I’ll-”

“Zayn!” Harry stops him, wanting to know more. _Needing_ to know more. “What did he do? Did he… touch him?”

“Pinned him up from what I could tell. Big old marks on his arms.” Zayn explains, grabbing his own bicep with spread fingers to emphasise. Harry feels physically sick. “Don’t think he did any real damage tho. Lou’s in bits though. Tryin’ to do right but he always gets f*cked over, y’know?”

Harry nods, not trusting himself to say a word. His sight has gone tunnel vision as he stares at the corner of the kitchen where the walls meet at a right angle.

“I think he was alright by the time we left ‘im. ‘Ad to peel Liam off ‘im though.” Zayn continues to natter, motor mouth that he is, and Harry can’t focus. He hates the thought of Louis alone in his flat, no food, no heating, no company. Going to work, coming home from work and then having to deal with this _idiot_ shoving him around and doing God knows what else to him. He didn’t meet Dan but every time Louis or one of the other lads would mention him, it’d send a prickle of uncomfortable anger up his spine. Eventually, as he zones back in, Zayn has veered off topic and is still chattering.

“Will he be okay?” He asks, stopping Zayn in his tracks.

“I dunno, mate.” Zayn says with a deep breath after a hernia-inducing long pause. “Maybe you should ‘ave a word? I know it won’t end badly.”

Harry mulls this over for what is probably too long. Damn Zayn being all cryptic. It certainly sounds like he knows more than he is letting on. Zayn doesn’t budge, just keeps staring relentlessly back at him. Nodding furiously, Harry eventually says, “I will.”

“Promise?” Zayn says, moving finally, over to the fridge. He glugs milk into a pint glass and takes a stack of chocolate hobnobs from the biscuit barrel. Why does no one in his friendship circle eat properly, apart from Liam of course?

Harry nods earnestly, not quite ready to ‘sign on the dotted line’ as it were and commit to anything. He’d admitted his feelings to himself, and now to Zayn, and God knows what Zayn knows or _thinks_ he knows.

“I’m gonna lie down.” He says meekly, passing through the living room in a bubble. Zayn holds up a hand from his reclined position on the sofa in acknowledgement, and thankfully doesn’t push the issue any further than they already had.

*

Harry lies back on his bed, pressing himself down into the plush mattress. His bed covers are freshly washed and the fabric softener takes him back to when he first moved in. In some ways it feels like a lifetime ago, like he’d always been here, and in others its feels like it was five minutes ago and he still doesn’t know what he is doing with his life. He half expects to wake up one morning, go out his bedroom door and be back at his old place, Ray sat at the kitchen table reading the Mirror with a fag in his mouth, no windows open, no washing up done, same blood smeared tank top he’d been wearing all week.

He reaches down to the floor for his phone, stretching precariously across the room to unplug and switch off the charger. He swipes up the screen with his index finger, tapping idly into his messages.

His inbox is hardly brimming with people dying to contact him. The hours old conversation with Louis sits at the top of his inbox; the other messages from Zayn and from his mum few and far between and dating back weeks. He tries a million different ways to get across what he wants to say, cringing the moment the chosen message says ‘sent’.

 

***

 

Liam flies out of the office, putting his head down to avoid conversation with the receptionist as he leaves. He feels bad, but he’ll make up for it tomorrow by being extra sociable. But now, he’s already running late and if he delays himself a nanosecond longer than necessary, Sophia will probably end him and they won’t need to bother going to their appointment, he could just go straight to the morgue.

He sprints towards Sophia’s silver VW Golf parallel-parked across the street. She has fired up the engine and is pulling on her seatbelt before he’s even got a grip on the door handle.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He gasps, tossing his bag into the back and taking the pile of papers that Sophia brandishes in his face. They’re half way down the street before he’s getting his seatbelt on. A trip to morgue is looking more and more likely.

“It doesn’t matter now, let’s just get there. What floor is it?” She asks, even though they’ve been to the Unit twice before.

“Second.” He confirms, watching her tanned hands grip the steering wheel as they merge onto the dual carriageway and zoom on ahead. “My little Speed Demon.”

“Shut up.” She says though she’s smiling when he sneaks a look at her out of the corner of his eye.

*

“Mr and Mrs Payne?” A nurse appears through double doors, calling their name although her volume could do with being turned up a bit, Liam thinks.

They follow her down the familiar twists and turns of the corridors to the consulting room. Even though they’re not on a ward, that clinical hospital smell burns his nostrils and he’s relieved when they get to the consulting room, they close the door and it’s just like being in any other office. There’s a green, leafy plant on the desk and photos of family members on the doctors desk and for a moment he forgets why they’re here.

Then he remembers.

“It looks as if your semen analysis is low, Mr Payne.” The Consultant says. She doesn’t dance around it, there’s no sugar-coating, she just cuts straight to the chase. The words feel like a punch to the gut.

“But I thought it was unexplained sub-fertility?” Sophia asks, decibels of panic rising in her voice with every word. “How has this happened?”

“As a pre-caution we took the final lot of tests from the two of you at the last appointment, in view of a potential referral for IVF.” Dr King explains. They nod, they remembers. “Now historically, your results have all been normal and that’s what lead us to our diagnosis of unexplained sub-fertility. In view of the recurrent miscarriages but little else of note symptoms-wise, this diagnosis was a solid one.”

Liam reaches across and places his hand on Sophia’s thigh; he can feel her leg jittering. “It’s okay.” He says silently.

“This result could be an anomaly, I would advise repeating it. We can do that today.”

She continues to ramble, producing forms and sticky address labels and sample kits that he is all too familiar with. He doesn’t really hear what the Consultant is saying; all that he takes away with him is that this is his fault. His swimmers aren’t strong enough or plentiful enough to even make a child; the simplest of tasks, the most natural progression in life after marriage, and he can’t even manage it.

Sophia assures him on the way home that it is _not_ his fault and they’ll put in another sample and simply keep trying. The car journey home is a quiet one; Radio One tinkling away in the background the only sound other than Liam’s heavy breathing.

When they get home, he erupts.

“How can you be so calm about this, Soph?” He explodes, wondering why the hell his wife has barely batted an eyelid after receiving this devastating news.

“Liam, I said in the car, let’s just do the sample, hope for the best and keep trying. It’s what we’ve been doing all this time.”

“What’s going on Soph?” He asks, flopping onto the stool and propping himself up on the breakfast bar.

She sighs and deeply, pulling the sleeve of her powder pink cashmere jumper over her fist. She looks sheepish and like she isn’t quite telling him the whole truth. For a horrible moment, his whole life flashes before his eyes as his imagination runs away with him and he wonders what the hell Sophia is going to say.

“I didn’t wanna say anything, because of… well y’know, the past. But…” She stops talking and disappears into the hallway.

“Soph, what the f*ck are you doin’?” He cries indignantly with his hands in the air. “Stop messing with me an’ have at it!”

She reappears with her handbag, setting down the whopping great big black leather article on the bar with a thud. She unzips it and roots around for a while before producing a crumpled oblong item inside a Boots carrier bag. _Shit…_

“Soph, what’s… is that what I think it is?”

With a giddy smile she nods and meets his eye for the first time since they got home. “I didn’t wanna say anything but…”

“Why, what’s happened?” He’s at a loss for words as Sophia takes the Clearblue test out of the bag and sets the box down on the worktop.

“I’m four days late.” She says slowly. “I thought it’d come, but no sign yet. I picked this up this morning.”

She’d taken the whole day off work. It makes sense.

“Have you done it?” Liam asks dumbly; he can see the plastic wrap still shining on the package. “Sorry, that was stupid. Are you gonna…”

“Wanna do it together?” She asks, laughing softly at her own implication.

*

“Three minutes, Li,” Sophia repeats calmly as Liam asks for the third time how long the test will take. As if he doesn’t know, honestly. He resorts to drumming his fingers against the bath panel rhythmically as they wait.

When a polite clearing of the throat doesn’t deter him, and he misses her clearing her throat, Sophia lays her hand softly atop his and stops his tapping. “Li, please, this is stressful enough without you an’ your tapping.”

“Sorry, love,” He jumps up off the side of the bath he was perched on and studies the products on the sill intently, reading the labels over and over again, none of it going in at all. Sophia sits on the closed toilet seat, one leg crossed over the other, bouncing her foot silently. A small trail of black cotton around the ankle of her leggings distracts him momentarily, before he turns his attention to examining the heads of their toothbrushes.

“Babe?” Sophia breaks the silence, a lot quieter than Liam had expected. “Wanna check it?”

With a deep breath, he turns round and leans back on the edge of the sink. He picks the face-down test up off the side and turns it over, but doesn’t look at it straight away. “I can’t,”

“You can,” Sophia whispers, rising gracefully to take her place next to him. Gently she puts her hand over his. “Together. 1,2… 3.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for Sophiam. 
> 
> Please leave kudos/comment if you enjoyed. I hope you did!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy with how this turned out, so I hope you like it too! Please kudos or comment if you did! Thank you soo much!

Louis uses his key to the main door, but it doesn’t feel right to let himself in the front door. He knocks gently, and when Zayn appears at the door he doesn't look at all surprised to see him and suddenly it feels like things might just be slotting into place.

"I... Harry text me." He tries to explain, even though it’s probably not necessary any more. As such, Zayn doesn't say a word, just moves to the side to let him past, hitching smile. He reaches out and slaps Louis' arse as he passes and when Louis looks back they share a wordless moment that Louis basically takes to mean 'go for it pal'. Without looking back again, he heads across the unkempt living room and down the unlit hallway to Harry’s door.

It takes probably no more than ten seconds for Harry to answer but it feels like a lifetime. There’s a muffled sound of movement from the other side of the wood and then Harry is there. Without needing to say a word, Harry invites him in and closes the door behind them.

“Hi,” Louis eventually manages to speak. Harry sits down on the ruffled bed covers and motions for Louis, who is still rooted to the spot with his hands shoved in his jacket pocket, to sit down too.

“Hi,” Harry whispers back as Louis seats himself an inch or five away from Harry.

“I got your text.” Louis says, at the same time Harry says, “You didn’t text me back.”

They both laugh, which quickly peters out and the silence is not exactly awkward but it doesn’t feel too comfortable either.

Louis notices a balled up pile of... something on Harry's dresser and he stares at until he finally realises what they are. He stifles a laugh and is about to ask why the hell Harry has hairnets when it dawns on him that of course, Harry works with food and has longer hair. Of course he has hairnets. Fuck, why does that turn him on?

Four of the same black polo shirt hang on an airer over the top of the radiator under the window and a stack of what looks like vinyl records are piled up on top of a chair in the corner. He notices a picture next to the stash of headwear. A dark haired lady who Louis assumes is Harry's mum, and basically a carbon copy of the lady but with dirty blonde tips of her hair, smile back. Louis has seen that smile before, on Harry.

Harry fills the silence and Louis concentrates again. “You look so nervous,” Harry says quietly, his words all soft around the edges.

“I am,” Louis admits with a small smile. He pulls his hands out of his pocket runs his clammy palms down the thighs of his jeans.

“No need to be.” Harry says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You can sit back if you like, it’d be more comfy?”

Louis considers this for a moment before nodding and shuffling back so his back is against the wall. The plaster is cold even through his jacket. He tucks one leg under the other and tries to relax; painfully aware that he’s still wearing his shoes.  
“Are you okay?” Harry asks immediately. As Louis nods, he continues. “Zayn told me about… about your boyfriend.”

Louis can’t respond; his heart is hammering so hard in his chest he thinks it may burst straight out and his blood screams around his body, deafening him so what comes next is barely comprehensible.

“I’m sorry he hurt you.” Harry hasn’t looked up from his lap since they started talking. “I hate the thought of…him hurting you. I just wanted to say, if you need anything, I'm here. I know, that you're a grown man and can take care of yourself but...” He trails off, leaving many unspoken words hanging in the air around them.

Harry finally looks up as he shakes his head. He looks sad and he doesn’t like it one bit. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Louis says thickly. “He wasn’t and isn’t.”

Harry’s eyes immediately fill with colour and the certain sadness disappears as aqua meets olive. “I care about you.”

“I care about you too,” Louis finds himself saying, though he still can’t really focus. Harry’s hopeful little smile grows and he finds himself reaching out to touch Harry. It’s the simplest of actions; just the tips of his four fingers resting against Harry’s leg. The material of his jeans is thick and rough but Harry radiates warmth from every pore and it glows through him to Louis’ skin as he places his own hand over his.

“I mean, I really care.” Harry says, and his hands shift on top of Louis’ as his own fingers twitch. “’Bout you.”

If he wasn’t so damn stunned by this beautiful man before him, Louis would be shrieking right about now. Instead, he turns his hand over so their fingers interlace with each other. He kind of wishes his palm wasn’t so clammy and sweaty against Harry’s peachy perfect soft skin, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind. He wraps his little finger over Louis’ which makes his heart flip.

With perfect unspoken coordination, Louis untucks his leg and inches closer as Harry turns his body. They’re closer now, both physically and emotionally, and Louis reaches across with his other hand. They share the softest of nervy giggles as they hold their hands tightly together and each wait for the other to make the first move. In the end, it’s Harry who untangles his fingers from Louis’ and lifts his hand to his face. Using the crook of his index finger, he gently tilts Louis’ chin up so they’re directly on a level with each other.

“Hi,” Louis finds himself saying again, swallowing thickly with strong anticipation for what he knows is coming next.

“Hi,” Harry replies, equally as softly, the gravelly sharp edges of his drawl cutting through syrupy sweetness. His lips quirk into a soft smile before, with the softness and exclusivity of a brand new love, he dips his head forward a fraction and their lips touch.

The delicate touch that had been tucked under his chin is now on the back of his neck as the firstly tender trace of their lips intensifies and the tips of their noses press against the other’s cheek; Harry to the left and Louis to the right. Harry very much leads the kiss, peppering no fewer than four kisses onto Louis’ lips. He doesn’t move to slip in his tongue though.

Eventually they separate but Harry doesn’t let go of him. “Wow,” He murmurs through a breath that he has clearly been holding.

“Can I ask you something?” Louis speaks, voicing a pondering that has troubled him for weeks now. Harry nods thoughtfully, a smile in his eyes that Louis wants to have painted onto canvas and hung in his living room.

“As stupid as this sounds, I’ve never asked…” He re-joins their hands together, his knee now pressed to Harry’s calf. “Are you, uh, are you gay or…?”

“I haven’t really been… anything, for so long now. But I suppose… bi? Yeah, bi.”

“That’s cool,” Louis says distractedly, not sure why this conversation kills him the way it does. 

"What’s your story?” Harry asks as he absent-mindedly massages his thumbs over the wriggly skin of Louis’ knuckles.

“Me? Yeah, I pretty much knew I was probably gay early on. I dunno if it was cuz I had so many sisters but I just kinda… saw all girls in a sisterly way. Didn’t see the appeal, but I didn’t really know how to feel about boys either. No one I knew was anything other than ‘normal’ so I kind of ignored it. Tried the whole girlfriend thing; when I was sixteen I finally faced up to it.”

“Sixteen?”

“Yeah, it was just before we finished school, like April or May time? Just before exams, great timing really! One of my friends, well who I thought was a friend, found stuff on my phone and accidentally on purpose told the whole school. I mean, I had barely decided meself, like I was just texting a few guys off some…. God awful site,” He pauses to chuckle wistfully. “But Oli kinda took it and ran with it. Literally.”

“That’s shit.” Harry muses.

“Yeah. I was just glad we only had a few weeks of school left. People talked and asked a million stupid, stupid questions. Like it was the most interesting development to ever hit Doncaster.” Louis’ smile fades and Harry nods back grimly, his lips fixed in a tight line. He looks so sad and so delicate all of the time.

“I was so worried about what people might think. I never even had a girlfriend or a boyfriend until uni.” Harry admits finally.

“Really? Why were you so scared?” Louis asks, almost whispering.

“I guess I just didn’t want people to know. Think I was weird or crazy or worse still; say it was just a phase. Or attention seeking, y’know?”  
Louis nods sagely. He definitely knew that. “It’s sad really that we ever felt that way.”

“I know. Shame we didn’t have each other then, could have helped each other through it.” Harry says, before hastily adding, “Y’know, in a mates way.”

Louis laughs softly and nods. “Yeah, mates." He sighs softly and continues. “I think about my kids and if any of them grew up to have the same struggles, I’d like to think they’d have support, y’know?”

Harry nods, shifting his gaze to the window. “What was your first time like? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Urgh, awful.” Louis exhales regretfully. “It was in a car, yep, as cliché as that sounds. Parked up on the Yorkshire moors, dead of winter, no other bugger around. Looking back, I’m probably lucky he didn’t try to kill me or summat.”

“Yes, very lucky.” Harry says earnestly, and Louis is reminded of how real and serious Harry can be sometimes.

“It was all squashed in the back, he practically bent me double and although I never told him it was my first time I suppose it were obvious. He didn’t take it easy though. Hurt like hell, I think I even shed a tear at one point.” Remembering the story winds Louis slightly, but he doesn’t stop to give his demons the satisfaction of catching up to him. “Afterwards, all I wanted to do was go home and get in the shower have a good cry, but I was too terrified to move so I let him take me to McDonalds. We sat in his car, I forced myself to eat it. Cheeseburger and a banana milkshake – I don’t even like banana milkshake! I can still remember the smell, the taste, urgh, the windows all steamed up from the food.”

They sit in silence for a few moments as Louis reflects. “What about you?”

“It was in the second year of uni, her name was… Katie.” He stops almost mournfully. “It was okay, I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily say it was good but… wasn’t too bad. I never heard from her again after though. I don’t know if anyone ever knew, I think she was ashamed of me. I waited all that time to do it and ended up with my heart broken anyway.”

Shit. He hadn’t really been prepared for this Harry. He hadn’t expected something that heartbreakingly frank to come out of his mouth. The long line of idiots that had come before Harry – well, there aren’t that many really – had all ended up complete knobheads with only one thing on their mind. Suddenly, he realises he needs to respond. “Her loss.” _Is my gain,_ he thinks but he doesn’t say it. “And with a guy?”

“Same story, really.” Harry sighs, and Louis is sensing a pattern here. “The whole thing terrified me and I just wanted to… get it over with, really. I uh, got very drunk and… he was in his third year, Michael his name was. I think he just saw me as some sort of... twink? I dunno, it was awful and I was awful and everything was pretty shit for a few years after that.”

Louis laments that it sounds like there is a lot more to this story than Harry is willing to give at the moment, but he doesn’t press. They sit in silence for a moment, Louis tucked into his side with Harry’s arm slung loosely around him fiddling with a thread hanging off the sleeve of his t-shirt. His phone vibrates in his pocket but reading his message is right down on the list of things he wants to do right now.

“I think I’m more of a guy guy than a girl guy. I dunno what that’s called?” Harry says, innocence flooding his features before he giggles at what he just said. “You know what I mean.”

“Can I ask a stupid question?” Harry asks once their laughter has died down. Louis nods cautiously, wondering what on earth this ‘stupid question’ could be. “Can I have a cuddle?”

“C’mere.” Louis says, beckoning him in. They lie back together and although Harry is bigger than Louis all over and his feet hang over the end of the bed whereas Louis’ do not, Harry cuddles into him and compacts himself into the space of Louis’ arms like he was always meant to be there. His lips fall just on Harry’s temple and he brushes his lips against the warm skin. Almost inaudibly he sighs, “I’ll take care of you.”

His phone vibrates against his thigh again in the tight confines of his jeans pocket, but he continues to ignore it. The only person he could possibly want to speak to right now is here in his arms.

His fingers slide under the hem of Harry’s t-shirt, dipping under the material to find his ivory skin warm under his fingertips. Every inch of Harry’s angelic skin is warm, like he radiates light that warms him throughout. He’s desperate to explore as much of this new territory as he can. As his hands travel across Harry’s hip bones, he tenses underneath him, a little sound escaping from his lips that Louis wants – no, needs - to hear again. Louis’ own breath hitches as Harry’s arm that had been slung loosely over his hip moves down to come to a rest on his bum. His heart continues to hammer against his ribs as the tips of Harry’s fingers tenderly palpate the swell of skin through the material.

And there is that incessant buzzing again. Twice. No three times.

"Jesus Christ!" He mutters as Harry’s hand drops away and he pulls back a fraction. "I’m sorry."

"It's alright," Harry smiles coyly as Louis moves to extend his leg to get his phone out of his pocket. 

“It’s Zayn.” Louis informs him, smiling at his phone like a bloody idiot. "Bloody seven messages!" 

_‘Hows it goin in there? x’_

_‘Did u ask him?’_

_‘Whats going 0n Tomlinson????’_

_‘????’_

_‘I’m texting Harry okay’_

_‘No answer, I guess it went well!’_

_‘On second thoughts I dont wanna know!’_

"I've got three." Harry leans over the bed to retrieve his own phone from the floor. He giggles at his phone screen, an actual giggle. “I’m guessing he wants a progress report?” 

"How embarrassing, yes. Yes that's exactly it."

"That's cute." Harry says with a soft chuckle that Louis has heard so many times it’s become his official favourite sound.

"You say cute, I say embarrassing." Louis says, peering down and trying to find the words to form a response for Zayn, even though: 1) he’s in the next room, and 2) he isn’t quite sure how to articulate what just happened and how he feels to himself, let alone Zayn or much less, Harry.

As he tries to type, there’s a bit of a commotion from down the hall, and it takes Louis a moment to realise that the voices, whilst familiar, are a bit out of place.

“Is that…?” Harry twists quirks a confused knot into his expression and shuffles off the bed and opens the door a crack; peering out.

“Soph and Liam?” Louis utters, pulling himself off the bed in confusion. He can’t see over Harry’s shoulder, but with the door open he can hear it’s definitely them.

“Is that someone crying?” Harry whispers to him as he edges the door open and looks back to Louis for reassurance before they begin to creep down the hallway.

“Liam, fuck, what’s happened?” Louis’ pace and his tone heighten as he sees Zayn and Liam embracing in the middle of the living room; noisy, wrenching sobs emanating from Liam.  Sophia stands just off to the side, expressionless, and he just can’t understand what’s going on.

He’s struck dumb for a moment as he fears the worst. He falters in the middle of the room, midway between the hallway and the sofa. What the hell has happened and why there is such an ocean between Liam’s frantic, breathless state and Sophia’s sated, calm demeanour?

“Soph’s pregnant,” Liam eventually pulls away from Zayn and lets off a huge outtake of air.

“What?!” Louis’ mouth falls open and he’s across the room in a flash; leaping onto the coffee table and launching himself off the table like it's a springboard into Liam’s arms. “That’s fucking amazing news, oh my God Li!”

“Thanks man!” Liam is muffled as he talks into Louis’ shoulder. Louis hooks his left arm around Liam’s neck and grips the back of his t-shirt with the other, legs clamped securely around his waist. Liam staggers about the room with his Louis-shaped baggage, the small, excitable one still shrieking and exhaling deeply in shock.

“I’m gonna be a dad.” Liam repeats dreamily as Louis envelops Sophia into a bear hug. He squeezes her tight but decides it’d probably be best not to mount her.  
Zayn calls Niall, who is still muttering when he arrives, but his annoyance quickly dissipates when Liam delivers the good news. There’s more cheering and whooping and, to the surprise of everyone, Niall sheds a tear as he demands a toast to the new baby.

“This is just so flipping’ great!” Louis muses, gratefully accepting a glass of bubbly thrust into his hand by Zayn. “I’m just so chuffed. ‘Ere, we’re all gonna be uncles, how fuckin’ mint is that?”

Harry’s eyes meet his eyes as they all lift their glasses of Prosecco – bar Sophia who has lemonade – and Harry must sense the sparkle in his eye as his smile grows but he discretely shakes his head. “Let them have this.” Harry mouths to him with a reassuring smile.

  
*** 

  
Considering how skewwhiff the first half of May had gone, the rest of the month was beginning to shape up nicely and it was finally half term. Well, it would be at 3pm.

As chuffed as he is for Sophia and Liam – he really is, it’s the best news ever – the untimely interruption has left things rather in the air for him and Harry.

It’s been a week since Sophia and Liam dropped their baby news, and they now have a due date in December. Louis had said a silent prayer for the baby that it wasn’t born over Christmas as Louis knows what that’s like growing up.  
Another issue had been that Harry had only been available via text for the last week, and those has been few and far between. It’s confusing, to say the least. The few kisses that they had shared were amazing, really, and that encouraging little wonky smile of his from behind loops of dark curls hadn’t been a figment of Louis’ imagination had it? Zayn doesn’t seem to know anything either and that is the most suspicious thing to Louis. His current mood is Trust No-One.

Anyway, with Harry dropping off the radar, the last week of term had dragged by. The nearer the kids got to holidays, the less cooperative and more disruptive they became. Luckily, the last Friday of term is a sunny one and all six year groups are due to spend the day on the playing field doing games.

He chaperones his kids out onto the field after the register, accompanied by a teaching assistant called Miss Baker that makes him think of Harry, dammit. Thankfully, all the kids had remembered to come ready dressed in their PE kits, so thus far it had been plain sailing.

In the class of 18, they’re allocated to 9 kids each. As the actual proper official teacher, Louis gets the group with Jackson and Jayden in. He leads both groups over to the area marked with a ‘year one’ sign printed off Microsoft Word, laminated and stuck on a mini Javelin pole in the ground. The four boys and five girls gather around him and he takes a register again, though visually he can keep track of his kid’s just fine.

The first event is an egg and spoon race. Louis notes that he’s glad he wasn’t in charge of pre-boiling the hard boiled eggs like he had been two years ago. He’d forgotten until 9.30pm the night before and the shops were closed so he’d had to use his own, bloody hell. That was a nightmare.

Every year, the egg and spoon race became more and more calamitous and Louis wondered why they didn’t just ditch it. The majority of the eggs roll off the spoons at one point or another during the race, and the ‘winner’ from Miss Baker’s team Casey crosses the line with his index finger firmly securing his egg to his spoon.

Becky’s enthusiastic hollering floats across on the breeze and he watches as she bounds alongside her own egg and spoon race shrieking words of encouragement to her racers. Louis remembers that she hasn’t yet asked him for an update on the ‘cupcake man’ situation; she probably assumed he was too chicken-shit too actually do anything about it. Well, show’s how much she knows.

Contradictory of the point of racing to determine a winner, every child gets a ‘well done’ star sticker to adorn their t-shirts. The stickers are all the same size and colour to minimise the risk of arguing and tantrums.

The egg and spoon race is followed by a relay race with bean bags and then long jumping which Louis finds honestly ridiculous.

“The amount of cheating that goes on in professional sports nowadays is terrible!” He sighs to Miss Baker as she takes her place next to him midway down the long jump track.

His phone in his pocket vibrates as he watches over the kids assembling at the starting line for the long jump. He can’t look at it, it’s simply the rules and he doesn’t need to add ‘lost his job and thrown in jail’ to his growing list of personal complaints.

After the long jump, which is really more of a jumping up and down on the spot exercise for most of the kids, it’s break time and the dinner ladies escort the kids to the other end of the playing field. His tasks include setting up the posts for the next event – rounders - and refilling the kid’s water bottles before he can disappear into an empty classroom and look at his phone.

_‘Sooo sorry it’s been hectic this week. I’m cooking tea tonight, welcome to join us? Celebrate half term! Half 7ish? xox’_

_Well, bless him for remembering,_ Louis thinks as he grins crazily at his screen. He types out a hurried confirmatory reply to the sound of the whistle being blown outside.

Back to work.

*

After taking yet another register – bloody formalities – the two groups of kids are assigned teams; batters and fielders. Louis’ kids are up first batting, so he has to step up to the field and assess. Granted, they’re only playing with foam bats and soft balls, but some of their hand eye coordination leaves a lot to be desired.

Rounders for five year olds takes a much more relaxed approach than any of the games of rounders he’d played in school. The distance between the bases could be covered in two short leaps by an adult, and the power behind the balls being batted isn’t enough to send the ball much further than a few feet beyond the set up.

It’s sunny and warm and he rolls up the sleeves on his lavender shirt to his elbows and makes the most of the nice weather. Shouts of encouragement and squeals that are a mixture of delight and frustration fill the air as the teams swap and Louis’ team eventually glides their way to an easy victory over Miss Baker’s team.

They break for lunch and Louis can finally escape back indoors for twenty minutes. As he eats his rather lacklustre Dairylea triangles sandwiches, he thinks ahead to dinner tonight and wonders what it might be. His mouth waters at the prospect of some nice chicken or steak or pasta bake or something. When he looks down at his sandwich his heart plummets.

The next and final activity after resuming from lunch is the assault course; which involves running half of the straight section of the running track with a beanbag on your head, then tossing said bean bag into a hula hoop on the ground, then hopscotching to a waiting soft ball that has to be dribbled to the finish line. Sounds simple, but bear in mind these are adrenaline-rushed four and five year olds.

Even though they’re not supposed to, the majority of the kids hold their beanbags in place on their heads as they run the first part of the course. Louis calls over the hubbub for them to let go but his pleas fall on deaf ears. There is an almighty confusion when it gets to the part where they’re supposed to toss their beanbags, and it’s a good job they’re not being timed otherwise it would be declared a DNF for sure.

The hopscotching goes much better, and ultimately little blonde Madison is the first across the finish line with her soft ball gliding expertly along in front of her.

“Wahey!” He cheers along with her as she turns to see her nearest competitor just setting off. As before, they all earn a star sticker to go with the other four from the previous activities of the day.

With a simple headcount, Louis and Miss Baker chaperone the kids back to the classroom to collect their bags and coats. The kids haven’t calmed down much after the excitement of the day, but actually, they’re not his problem anymore.

Once the final few have dissipated, the classroom is eerily quiet but it’s peaceful. Louis likes it like that. The cleaners are just firing up the vacuum cleaners as he leaves at three thirty. Given the nice weather, he momentarily considers getting off the bus a few stops early and walking, but he’s been on his feet all day so decides to give that one a miss. He pops into Tesco in town to peruse the drinks; agonising over the different types until he settles on a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

It doesn’t even occur to him that different wines accompany different foods.

He doesn’t – won’t – pay 5p for a carrier bag so he shoves the bottle into the bottom of his messenger and heads out for the bus. It’s there ready and waiting for him as he rounds the corner, and things seem to be all working in his favour. He’s finally seeing Harry tonight after all this time. Well, it’s been eight days, but it feels like a lifetime since they’d changed their dynamic so much the last time they had been together.

Ear phones in, he loses himself in Brand New and stares at a congealed lump of old gum stuck in the right angle of the window frame until he starts to go cross-eyed.

*

Harry said half seven, so he should aim for quarter past, so he should allow half an hour for the twenty minute walk, so he is out of the door by half past six, just to be on the safe side. He does feel a bit conspicuous walking down the street cluthcing a bottle of wine, and he hopes that none of his kids’ parents spot him.

Fresh out of the shower with his hair softly sweeping into a side fringe, the long bit at the front that won’t stay straight tickles his cheekbone and he makes a mental note to book a haircut during half term. He’d agonised for a good ten minutes over what to pair with his staple black skinnies, but in the end he’d just gone for a simple round neck baby blue t-shirt and a lightweight denim shirt. After all, Zayn was going to be there and they were just three friends hanging out. The invitation had been a friendly one because Harry knows Louis can’t cook for shit. The wine he is bringing with him is just a goodwill gesture in celebration of half term and a week off work. Harry had said so himself. Right.

*

“Let me help? I feel useless just sat here drinking wine.” The kitchen is a hub of activity, the balcony doors wide open doing nothing to quell the heat. The Chinese honeyed beef stir-fry Harry is mid-way through preparing is a far cry from Louis’ usual beans on toast or microwave lasagne. The kitchen countertop is awash with bottles of sauces, some of which Louis has never seen before; Chinese cooking wine and oyster sauce amongst honey and soy sauce.

Louis had been hovering at the quieter end of the kitchen for the last ten minutes or so, glass in hand, watching Harry fly about the kitchen doing things that Louis has only ever seen on the cooking channels.

They exchange a little look between them before Harry relents and nods towards the fridge. “In there should be the long stem broccoli. Get it out, please.”

“What’s wrong with normal broccoli?” Louis teases, eyeing up the posh vegetable critically.

“Nothing’, it’s just not special enough.” Louis realises Harry’s hand is resting on his, and a beat longer than is strictly necessary passes before Harry moves it. Louis finds himself unable to respond, so instead just smiles gormlessly like an idiot for a few moments.

“Look at all this fancy stuff,” He examines clinical looking chrome utensils and equipment that is scattered across the worktop.

Harry has shredded carrots, spring onions and green beans into matchstick sized strips and the noodles are drained, soaked and ready to be thrown in at the last minute. The beef, once sealed, sizzles away noisily in the honey sauce. In quite an unnecessarily showy move, he sprinkles sesame seeds onto the meat from a height.

“Sorry, Jamie Oliver!” Louis teases, leaving his spot babysitting the broccoli to top up their glasses. Zayn is drinking beer ‘cuz he’s a man, so all the more for him. Them.

“This isn’t gonna blow my head off is it?” He asks with mock gravity. “You know what a sensitive flower I am.”

“Of course,” Harry says back sarcastically, his eyebrows raised. “But no, there’s no spice in this at all, just a bit of black pepper.”

“Oh, well I should be able to handle that.” Louis says with a smirk that Harry matches, oh my God.

“Good, well it’s almost ready you’ll be glad to know!”

“Good!” Louis repeats, his sudden expression bouncing off the walls a bit. “It smells lovely.”

Harry smiles modestly as if to say I hope so, and tosses piles of noodles into the wok with one hand and the broccolis into a pan of boiling water with the other. The water splashes some, but he doesn’t flinch. Louis feels an unnecessary but most welcome surge of attraction towards Harry just from that single motion.

Zayn appears in the doorway to ask if he has time for a quick fag, but they are both promptly ushered out of the kitchen by Harry. With bemused smirks, they grab their cutlery and take their places on the sofa, Zayn reclining over one himself so Harry will be forced to sit next to Louis. Good old Zayn.

Harry carries the shallow bowls of stir fry into the room on his arm like a proper professional, one in each hand and a third resting on his extended forearm.

“Bloody hell, how do you know how to do these things?” Louis gasps as he scoops a twirl of noodles into his mouth.

“It’s not much. Do you like it?” Harry watches closely with a tight-lipped smile as Louis chews.

“Um, yes?” Louis spears a mini corn on the cob with his fork. “It’s lovely. I feel so spoiled.”

The scraping of Zayn’s fork on his plate reminds Louis’ that this isn’t a date; it’s more than just the two of them here.

“Well, it’s not every day you're on half term is it?”

“Pff, tell me about it!” Louis scoffs as he gulps another mouthful down. “Cor, I’m bloody starved.”

Harry and Zayn smile at him as he enthuses about what is probably a very simple and straight forward dinner. He chooses to ignore them though, and clears his plate before either of them.

“What’s for pudding?” He asks cheekily with a grin.

*

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Zayn says smugly, appearing in the kitchen with his phone in his hand, as it has been for most of the night.

Harry is attempting the washing up, even though he’s been told by both Zayn and Louis to leave it be.

“What’s that?” Louis looks up from where he is fashioning the apples and oranges in the fruit bowl into phallic arrangements.

“Not for you, for Harry mainly.” Zayn says. Louis looks put out but Harry’s attention is piqued.

“What surprise?” Harry asks cautiously, dropping the plate he was tackling back into the suds with a splash.

“I’ve just sorted something with Ed.”

“Sheeran?” Harry’s mouth drops open, Louis can see from this angle and he has to stop his drunken mind from making any rude connotations. He stops defaming the fruit and moves a step closer, leaning on one elbow on a clean-ish sliver of the otherwise dirty worktop. Without really being conscious of it, he presses two finger tips of his spare hand gently against Harry’s lower back.

“No, Milliband. Yes, Sheeran! Anyway, you free Friday night? What am I talking about, make yourself free Friday night, I’ve got us all tickets to see Ed in Leeds!”

“See him sing?” Harry asks hoarsely as Louis awes at the prospect of a reunion with Ed.

“Yes, obviously.” Zayn says, rolling his eyes affectionately. “You up for it or do I have to put yours on Twickets?”

“No! No, I’m up for it!” Louis and Zayn both giggles at Harry as he fumbles over himself in an attempt to reassure Zayn.

“I’m messin’, I wouldn’t do that. But yeah, Friday night. I’ll let the lads know.”

*

When it’s time to leave, Zayn says an informal goodbye and informs them he’s going to the loo. His sketching pad is precarious in his back pocket, so he’s obviously going to be a while.

Louis lingers on the brink of leaving for ten minutes, making small talk and quite frankly shameless delay tactics.

“Thank you again for tea.” He says for the fourth time.

Harry smiles profusely, that wide, wonky smile that reaches his eyes that Louis had grown oh so fond of recently. “You’re more than welcome. It wasn’t anything posh though. Just practice really.”

“Well, if that’s practice then I’m sure the real deal is banging.” Louis says, unsure why he’d gone with ‘banging’ but it gets a full body laugh from Harry. Thinking about it, Louis isn’t sure what Harry means by practice, but he doesn’t dwell on things now.

“I’ll see you soon yeah? Friday if not before.” Harry’s eyes shine as he talks about the Ed gig.

“Definitely.” Louis says, hoping it would be before Friday. He hesitates a breath longer and Harry holds out a hand. He takes the hint and lets himself step into Harry’s orbit. Harry pulls him in close and their height difference means Louis can comfortably turn his cheek and rest his head on Harry’s chest. Harry’s hug is warm and firm and safe, and he holds his arms around him with such protection that Louis forgets for a moment he is supposed to be the older one.

“I’ll see you soon.” He murmurs softly against the grey marl material of Harry’s t-shirt. His own voice reverberates against his chest and tickles his cheek, causing him to laugh softly.

“See you very soon.” Harry agrees, but he doesn’t let go immediately.

Once he does though, Louis feels cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

Louis keeps his promise to himself and goes to the barbers early on Wednesday morning (early being quarter to twelve in the afternoon because its half term and he _needs_ his sleep).  
   
The bloke has cut his hair before, so he thinks it gives him permission to talk Louis’ ear off. There’s only so much nodding and smiling politely that Louis can do before he actually has to input something to the conversation, but he’s got no holiday planned, he’s in limbo in his romantic life and he’s on holiday from work; there isn’t a whole lot he has to contribute.

After reluctantly parting ways with sixteen bloody quid for his new hairdo, he steps out of the barbers with decidedly less hair gathered around his neck, his fringe product-heavy and crunchy as he tries to run his fingers through it. Gone are the tufts that licked the nape of his neck and gone is some of the length on top that had to be held back by a headband.

Feeling the need to continue his indulgent streak, he walks the ten minutes into the centre of town and through the doors of Topman. It’s dangerous territory, and forty five minutes later and with an infinitely lighter wallet, he emerges with three bags. He does damage in River Island, and on Superdrug’s fragrance counter too. And if he pops into Primark discretely for more boxers and socks, well that’s nobody’s business but his and the girl that had served him.

He may not see them behind his Wayfarer’s, but he gets some looks as he strolls home, almost strutting with buoyancy; shopping bags in one hand and a Costa fruit cooler in the other, sipping the drink up through the straw which he knows is suggestive but he frankly doesn’t care.

Harry had text him while he was in River Island and his whole world came to a standstill as he stopped to reply immediately.

_‘Got me haircut and suns out, today is a good day xx’_

_‘Oooh haircut?? I wanna see xx’_

Shamelessly, Louis opens up the camera app, flips to front camera and with his tongue sticking out and two fingers in a peace sign he snaps a selfie and sends it straight away.

He giggles bashfully as Harry replies, _‘Very handsome. xx’_

The walk home works up his appetite and by the time he gets in, he right fancies a muffin or a pastry or something. Finding his phone tossed carelessly in the bottom of the Primark carrier bag, he sends a quick text before he can talk himself out of it.

*

Harry holds up a white plastic bag with a closed-eye smile as Louis opens the door. “Delivery service isn’t normally part of my job, y’know?”

“Well, it is very much appreciated.” Louis laughs as he leads Harry through the door, down the hall and into the front room. The gangly, crazy limbed younger man scurries down the hall after him; he’s kicked off his Converse and slides in his socks every second or third step.

“Nice haircut, by the way. Looks even better in person.” Harry says.

Louis takes this compliment and pockets it forever. “Why thank you, and so it should for bloody sixteen quid!”

Harry laughs at him and he leaves him to sit down while he puts the kettle on. As he drops a teabag into a second cup, something he’s hardly ever had to do, he shouts through to the living room, “I hope you like Yorkshire tea. I’ve never met anyone that doesn’t like it.” _Except Zayn_ , he thinks to himself with an eye roll.

“Except Zayn!” Harry calls back and Louis has to smile to himself.

Harry’s eyes light up when he sees Louis coming back with the tea. Louis scolds him for not sitting down, and settles himself on the long end of the L-sofa, crossing his feet at the ankles and resting them on the coffee table. Harry sits down next to him, not being _quite_ as casual in his stance.

“Been shopping?” Harry muses, nodding towards the bags tossed haphazardly on the beanbag chair.

“Oh!” Louis exclaims, feeling embarrassed for some reason. “Yeah, felt a bit… shopping-y so…”

“Shopping-y?” Harry repeats with a soft, fond smirk. “That sounds interesting, is it contagious?”

“You’re a git.” Louis says softly, his own grin as soft and as fond as Harry’s.

“If you had another fish, what would you call it?” Harry asks randomly. Louis follows his gaze to the fishbowl where he is now watching Nimrod and Dookie bob about as Pinkerton, dark and ominous as she is, slides herself up and down the panel of glass with her mouth wide open.

“Well it’s gotta be a name worthy of such honour, of course.” Louis starts rattling albums off on his fingers. “Nevermind – no, doesn’t sound like a name. Candlebox… meh, great band but not really a name is it? I think I exhausted all the best options with Nimrod, Pinkerton and Dookie to be honest.”

He looks at Harry out of the corner of his eye. He’s nodding sagely and Louis can’t help but snort. “It’s a serious matter, naming summat. Good job I’ll probably never have a kid to name, it’d just be ‘Thing One’ or ‘Nameless’ or summat.”

“Hey, ‘Thing One’ has a lovely ring to it. You could be ‘Thing Two’.”

“Well I’ve been called worse!” Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder as he continues to half-think about hypothetical fish names. Harry’s head tilts to the side slightly too, and Louis keens at the connection.

“ _’Hi, I’m Thing Two here to pick up my kid, Thing One’_ ” Harry impersonates Future Louis, putting on a not-too-shabby Yorkshire accent.

“Nice accent, I’m impressed!”

“I did accents when I was a kid. Like, sketch shows and reading my books aloud. No wonder I ‘ad no friends, eh?” Harry sighs reflectively, gathering his hands in his lap.

Louis gently pushes the heel of his hand into Harry’s thigh, telling him off for belittling himself. “Look, I spent six odd years training to become a teacher, I know a thing or two about reading.”

“ _Really_? I’m shocked!” Harry exclaims in mock-surprise, earning him another shove from Louis.

“Shut up, you git. Listen, I’ve thought of a fish name! It’d be perfect.”

“What’s that then?” Harry asks, motioning eagerly for him to spill.

“ _Pablo_.” Louis says proudly, hoping Harry will get it.

“As in Honey. Pablo Honey. Radiohead.” Harry says without hesitation. _God, I like him even more than I did two seconds ago_ , Louis thinks inside. “Good choice.”

“Now all I need is the fish!”

Harry nods and they consider this for a moment, before both leaning forward for their teas in unison.

They chat then for what feels like hours; MTV Classic on low in the background. They talk about growing up with sisters, and even though Louis had thrice the amount of sisters to deal with than Harry did, they realise they’re pretty similar in a lot of ways. Carefully, Harry broaches the subject of dads.

“I’ve never heard you talk about your dad. What’s he like?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Louis says flatly, and Harry tenses slightly. Keen not to make him feel awkward, he carries on hurriedly. “I’m not upset over it. I’ve had twenty nine years to get over it. He left me mum when she were pregnant, sent a birthday card with a tenner in it every year til I was eighteen then dropped off the face of the planet. Mark, the girls’ dad, he was more like a dad to me.”

“Was?” Harry asks, almost inaudibly.

“It’s just mum and the twins at ‘ome now. The girls were heartbroken but it was… God, getting’ on for ten years ago now. They’re over it. They see him, I guess.” It hits Louis that he’s so estranged from his family that he doesn’t even know how often his sisters see their dad, and it hurts.

“My dad left us when I was nine. Proper confusing time that, why couldn’t he have waited until a better time?” Harry says with a grimacing laugh, before adding mournfully, “It’s shit how everyone leaves, int’ it? Bloody dads.”

“I know.” Louis agrees curtly, keen to move on. “Still, life goes on, eh?”

Harry seems to hesitate but he eventually nods and must sense Louis’ desire to change the subject, as he does just that. “I can’t wait for Friday.”

“Yeah it’ll be great to catch up.” Louis says, purposely casually, as Harry’s eyes widen in amazement.

“What is he like?” Harry asks, talking about Ed of course.

“What is who like?” Louis asks breezily, tensing up in case Harry attacks him. “Nah, it’s pretty cool really. Bit weird when everyone starts talking about your mate like he’s God’s gift or summat. Like, when you’ve seen him huggin’ the toilet sick and walkin’ drunk into lampposts it kinda takes the whole celebrity shine off.”

“How long were you mates?”

“Six, seven year’s maybe? I met him – and all of the lads actually – through Liam. They were all mates together since school, the lads and Ed. I knew Liam from the gym - no I don’t go anymore, if that weren’t obvious. Before my teaching days I was out quite a bit, messin’ about and doing stupid stuff. Zayn was exactly the same as me, fucking mad really. Niall, well, he’s always been mental. Liam too, if you can believe.” It’s true, Liam used to be The Life And Soul once upon a time. “I met them all that way and kinda just fell in with them. It was the year after that Ed started goin’ to London and stuff busking and trying to get gigs. Slow burn and all that. By the time he got signed, we were close and it was like losing a family member when he moved away this year.” He suddenly feels misty and laughs at himself. “God, man up Tommo man. Sorry…”

Louis hadn’t really intended to go so in depth, but as his story draws to a close Harry is still hanging on his every word.

“Bittersweet, I suppose?” Harry suggests, those wide, innocent green eyes back again.

“Yeah, definitely.” That was entirely accurate. He was chuffed for Ed, but he also missed his friend. His normal, beer guzzling, soppy song writing, warm cuddle giving friend Ed.

There’s another slight pause as they watch ‘Pictures of You’ by The Cure on the TV.

At the same time, they both utter, “Love this song” and laugh at yet another similarity.

“Do you not want kids, then?” Harry asks as the song finishes, and Louis is surprised for a moment before he remembers mentioning not having them earlier. The question would probably freak most people out but he feels no such emotion as his answer rolls off his tongue easily.

“I do. I’d love ‘em. My kids at school are the best ever, I love them all. It’s just, well, y’know. I’m single and gay. Makes having kids kinda hard.”

Harry’s reaction is minimal but somehow obvious, and Louis pretends not to notice even though a million things run through his mind. In the end, Harry holds his eyes closed in a blink for a moment of two before saying sadly, “I guess you’re right.”

He settles his head back on Harry’s shoulder; contented and satisfied silence between them as the Go Compare advert blares out of the telly. Harry moves and Louis feels the soft press of his lips on the top of his head but neither acknowledges it.

*

“I better get going, I’m minutes away from fallin’ asleep on you here and I’ve got work tonight.” Harry says stiffly. His head _has_ lolled a couple of times in the past few minutes but Louis just found it endearing. As long as he didn’t dribble on his head, he’d be fine. He stretches his long arms out and chucks out a strangled yawn that emanates from his very core.

Shrinking back from the wayward limbs, Louis feels a sudden emptiness as Harry gets to his feet. The Harry shaped dip in his sofa is still there but the warmth of his body is gone.

_Stay_ , is the first thing Louis thinks, but instead he says, “Work? Why tonight?”

“I’ve been doing evening shifts for the last week or so. Just for, y’know, extra money.”

“Oh right. Wait, what about Friday?” Louis asks, getting up too.

“Managed to blag that off.” Harry says with a proud grin. “I guess, I’ll see you then?”

They stand in the front room not moving for a moment before Harry pulls him into a hug, burying Louis’ head into his chest with his arms wrapped tight around his upper body.

 

***

 

“When do I buy my hat for the wedding?” Zayn asks immediately as Harry comes through the door.

“Shut up, it’s not like that!” Harry says bashfully, although he wishes it bloody well _was_ ‘like that’.

“Whaddaya mean it’s not like that? I thought you were… y’know, boyfriends now?” Zayn’s lingo is perhaps not quite up to scratch.

“No.” Harry says firmly, but soon relaxes. “We’re friends. It’s just… complicated right now.”

“Tell Uncle Zayn all about it.” Zayn says, closing in on Harry with an arm outstretched.

Wearily, eyeing the time, Harry sits down with Zayn and pours his heart out.

*

When he gets to the bakery, he feels physically exhausted but somehow lighter. The whole place is illuminated and calm, devoid of customers and staff members apart from Mr Baxter, the owner, and the day manager Helen. These past two and a bit weeks have been leading up to this moment; shaping a menu and organising the kitchen layout, but now he’s here, suffocating doubt troubling him as Mr Baxter gestures for him to sit down and wait.

He declines a drink, the churning tea still in his stomach from earlier enough to put him off. Being sick all over the paperwork would _not_ make a good impression.

“Now, the contracts are all drawn up, Mr Styles.” He hates being called Mr Styles. “You’re free to read over them at your leisure.”

Mr Baxter pauses and Harry picks up the stapled sheets in front of him to peruse. He doesn’t fancy reading the whole thing right now, and he was present for much of the drafting, so he skims over the pages before looking back up.

“Looks good to me.”

“Perfect, well, if you’re happy to formally accept my offer, I’d like to invite you to sign at the bottom of page six, and date it accordingly.” Mr Baxter leans over with a pen in hand, the shirt buttons of his soft blue shirt gaping under the girth of his stomach.

Taking the pen in his clammy hand, Harry urges himself to calm down. He puts the pen down, flexes his fingers twice and picks it back up.

Shakily, he scribbles a curly ‘HE Styles’ onto the dotted line and gives the date, double checking it twice in his head before committing pen to paper.

*

He can still hear the scratching of the ballpoint pen long after he’s shook Mr Baxter’s hand and profusely thanked Helen. He’s upstairs trying to cool off; literally. The cold tap is running on full and he holds his wrists under the chilling flow. He’d been told many years ago that doing so would cool you down quickly, but right now all he had for his trouble was numb, cold hands and an internal fire continuing to rage on inside.

He was supposed to be going for a wee; if he was gone much longer people would start to get suspicious. He shuts off the tap with the heel of his hand and grabs a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. His hands still feel cold and tingly and damp as he heads back out to the offices across the hall from his kitchen. The kitchen.

He stares down at the sample menu; his indecipherable scribble in every possible gap, some words crossed out then re-written in a moment of un-decidedness. Stacks of his cookbooks are scattered over the desk with sticky notes marking specific pages. The majority of the covers are splattered with various food spillages and one of them even carries the ring mark of a boiling hot saucepan Harry had rested on top of it once in a moment of foolishness back in year two of Culinary College.

“There he is!” Mr Baxter’s booming great voice bursts in from behind him, causing him to jump. He feigns a smile and leaps out of his seat as Mr Baxter holds out a dustbin lid hand for him to shake. “I’m off now lad, Helen’ll be here ‘til after you so no need to worry about locking up.”

“Okay, thank you.” Harry says, dumbstruck and nodding uncontrollably.

“We’ll meet next week some time to go over dates and such.”

“Okay, thank you.” Harry parrots himself.

Once Mr Baxter is gone, Harry foregoes the menus entirely and pulls up Clash of Clans on his phone, playing until five minutes to eight, when he gathers up the unchanged menus, re-files them and dashes along the corridor to the kitchen and grabs the half-loaf he’d left strategically placed behind the other breads when he’d finished his morning shift.

Popping in to the takeaway on the way, he heads home to make chip butties for their tea and think about what the hell he has just done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Guess what's coming next............... :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haircuts, pubs and boys kissing.
> 
> (Harry meets his idol)
> 
> PS - I took some artistic license with Ed’s performance and as it’s an AU, the real life chronology of his albums and/or singles released does not apply here.

“Nice ‘air Tommo!” Zayn shrieks, evidently already getting to the point of buzzed by the time Louis gets there. It’s only five thirty. Zayn sweeps in to ruffle the perfectly executed sweeping fringe and intentionally tufty short back and sides Louis has spent twenty minutes crafting, but gets a back hand to the abdomen for his troubles.

“Oh no you don’t Malik, do not touch the hair!”

“Lookin’ good Tommo!” Niall quips, appearing in the archway between the kitchen and the living room with a beer in each paw. He hands one over and poises them to clink together.

Dutifully, he ‘cheers’es with Niall before surveying the room to find Harry.

“He’s still getting ready, the little princess.” Zayn informs him as his eyes scanning the room meet Zayn, catching him _right_ in the act.

Louis attempts unaffectedness but he’s now three things: desperate to see Harry, desperate to kiss Harry and desperate to get as many drinks in himself as possible.

The thing about bottles of Corona – the evening’s apparent choice of tipple – is that they are dreadfully small and Louis on his fourth by the time Harry appears in the doorway.

His hair that had been a bit bedraggled and worse for wear on Wednesday is now glossy and rich in its dark chestnut tones; sweeping back and over on itself with curls tightly coiled like springs, and it’s an inch or so shorter too. The tips are just about reach his shoulders, where he’s wearing a heather grey fitted shirt buttoned up about half way, over a loose fitting white V-neck, skinny jeans and his all black Converse. Louis can see inky scribbles poking out from behind the daringly low cut neckline; it looks like a wing or something?

“Wow, someone scrubs up well!” Liam says exactly what Louis was thinking; appearing by his side with an impressed grin as Harry sheepishly takes a bottle from him and sits down on the sofa.

Before he can figure out what he should say to Harry, or if he should say anything at all, he feels the sharp finger of Zayn in his side push him in the direction of the sofa.

“Hiya,” Harry’s eyes contain a smile as he looks up from peeling the corner of the label off his beer. Louis feels foolish, having almost lost his footing on the way down. “Alright?”

“Hey. Nice hair.”

“Thanks.” Harry immediately reaches up to tug on a strand. “I thought it needed tidying up a bit and you inspired me with yours.”

“Wanted to look your best for Ed more like!” Louis scoffs softly, briefly touching a fingertip to the cashmere soft material of Harry’s shirt. God, this boy looks good in pastel. Harry rolls his eyes skyward and Louis can see pinpricks of blush creep into his cheeks. "Don’t be nervous. I’ll be, I mean we’ll all be there.”

*

Niall and Zayn lead the way down to the waiting car; the Irishman bouncing off the third from last step with a hearty “wooo!”

When Louis had been informed earlier in the week that Ed was arranging for someone from his team to escort them to the venue, he’d firstly scoffed, then shrieked. He’d been in the middle of watching daytime TV at the time, a half-eaten bag of Walkers Extra Crispy cheese and onion in his lap, licking flavour dust off his fingers, dressed in Puma tracksuit bottoms with rips in them, and now he was getting escorted to a gig by a fucking celebrity’s personal chauffeur. can Ed be classed as a celebrity, actually? Maybe a small one.

There’s champagne in the back of the car, of course. Some sort of alternative universe flashes through Louis’ mind as he imagines binning off uni in the first year to join Ed in his quest to becoming a musician. This would all be second nature to him by now. If he was more of a car connoisseur, he’d know what kind of car he was in, but it’s big, black and bloody beautiful. He giggles to himself as the exquisite sound of a champagne cork popping brings him back to reality. Zayn is wielding the bottle like a weapon, pouring glasses of bubbly for them all. Louis grabs an empty glass and sticks it under the frothy flow. If this is only for one night then he is going to make the bloody most of it.

“Leeham, put down your phone boy!” Niall hollers, launching himself across Zayn to try and reach Liam. Liam almost folds himself in half trying to hide his phone from his grip, the two grown men wrestling atop Zayn with a suspicious commentary of grunts and squeals.

“Gerroff, I need to ma- make sure Soph’s… okay!” Liam huffs as he squirms under Niall.

Champagne is spilled and rather suspect squeals and grunts erupt from the wrestling tangle of supposed grownups.

“The adventure continues!” Louis says, lifting his glass to his lips behind a smile when he catches Harry watching him with still, fond features. Louis feels his eyes follow his every move as he leans forward to grab the bottle. He motions to Harry for a refill but Harry’s glass that he clutches is still full. Louis’ was mainly froth and bubbles, that’s why he needs a refill so fast, he maintains.

Liam does, eventually, put his phone down, and old Liam comes alive. Niall of course discovers the built in chillers under their seats and brings out another bottle of champagne. Somewhere in the back of his mind, in the depths that aren’t yet alcohol soaked, Louis thinks he hopes they don’t have to pay per bottle. But the rest of him, the drunk, excitable side of him wants to drink _all_ the champagne in _all_ the world tonight.

“To friends, old and new!” Niall proposes yet another toast, throwing his free arm around Harry and knocking their heads together.

“To Payno and his swimmers!” Zayn offers next, sending Liam into a fit of embarrassed giggles, refusing to participate in the toast. When all eyes fall on Louis, who is next in the circle, he falters. What can he say?

“To, uh…” _What_ can he say? “To me and Hazza’s beautiful new ‘aircuts!”

He tries not to catch anyone’s eye as he knocks back his glassful and holds it out expectantly for a top up.  
  
  


* * *

  
Harry looks up at the building. It’s unassuming and understated in its get-up. _‘The Rolleston’_ he reads as they make their way across the gravel car park. There’s no sneaking in the back door or dashing in with jackets over their heads, but the little board by the door with the chalked up message ‘Ed Sheeran here 2nite 8-10pm’ makes his stomach and heart flip co-ordinately.  
Once inside, they make a beeline for the bar. Louis shuffles his bum onto a bar stool and with the crowd of people around them, Harry can no longer see him. He must be talking to Liam though, as every once in a while his hearty laugh rings out and Harry doesn’t feel quite so out of his depth. Niall and Zayn appear to be taking care of the first round of drinks. As inconspicuously as he can, Harry surveys the room, for some reason thinking he might catch a glimpse of Ed Sheeran even though of course he is the performer, he won’t just be mingling with the commoners.  
He is relieved to be lead to a booth in the back corner of the pub. He shuffles along to the corner, with Liam and then Niall shuffling in next to him to his right and Zayn slipping in to his left. Louis drags a chair noisily across from the next table and sits himself on the opposite end of the table, precisely as far away from Harry as it’s possible to be.

Liam and Niall couple off into a conversation between them, and Louis shouts across the table to Zayn, so Harry shrinks back slightly, resting his back against the plush cushion of the bench. His bones ached from weeks upon months upon years of early starts, mixing and lifting trays and vats of ingredients and fillings for various baked goods, not to mention the nights he’d been putting in for the last two weeks. Creating food worthy of selling to the public is one kind of pressure; the statistical, intricate, methodical brainpower that goes into helping create a business is another thing. For days, all he’d seen when he’d shut his eyes was menus and sums and diagrams and flipping pound signs everywhere.

“H?” Zayn’s voice interrupts his train of thought, and he blinks up at Zayn to see him staring at him expectantly. Looking around, they’re all clearly waiting for him to respond to whatever Zayn just asked him. Louis has the very tip of his tongue poised between his lips with a smirk as Harry comes out of his daydream.

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening.” He says bluntly, which gets a snorting laugh from Niall.

“We’re getting another round in, do you wanna drink?” Zayn asks again, his expression somewhere between humoured and exasperated.

“Oh, uh, yeah go on then. Thank you. Do you need…?” He goes to reach for his wallet.

“No! This is on me.” Zayn pushes Harry’s hand away before he can get his wallet out. “C’mon, lads, Ni, Li. Help me out.”

Niall looks ready to protest but Liam is getting to his feet and forcing him out of the booth before he can speak. Harry watches Liam run a lingering hand over Louis’ tense shoulders as he passes. Louis instinctively presses a soft touch to his friends hand and smiles distantly to himself.

When he looks up, he looks lost. He looks how Harry feels. There are decidedly too many people here to have this kind of conversation. Harry knows what needs to be said, or what should be said, but the words are stuck between his throat and his lips.

“I’ll help the boys!” Louis exclaims suddenly, pushing himself off his chair with pizzazz, and he’s gone before Harry could articulate even a simple hello, how are you?

  
***  
  
  


“Get me some crisps!” Niall requests before he disappears to find the loos. Louis shakes his head fondly as the blonde pats his bicep reassuringly as he bounces past.

“What are you doing Tomlinson?” Liam hisses as Louis slinks an arm around his waist and squeezes into a gap between Liam and the wall that isn’t really big enough for human occupancy.

“What? I’m here to help.”

“Yeah, an’ we’re trying to help _you_ but you won’t get any help if you’re here with us not there.” Liam says, jerking his head back towards the booth very unsubtly.

“What you on about?” Louis tries weakly. He knows exactly what Liam is on about but suddenly he feels like the walls have shifted in an inch and it’s that little bit harder to breathe.

“Y’know what we’re on about!” Zayn welcomes himself to the conversation as the barman appears.

“Five pints of Carlsberg please.” Liam pulls away from his lecture to order. Hurriedly, he tacks on the end “Oh, and a bag of salt and vinegar please.”

“Liam, have you ever thought maybe there’s nothing to ‘sort’? I mean, one minute it’s on, the next minute he doesn’t even speak.”

“But that’s Harry int’it? He’s like that.”

“Well, he shouldn’t be like that.” Louis says shortly. He folds his arms over his chest. “He’s too bloody confusing.”

“Y’know what the kids like. Maybe you should talk to him. Take matters into your own hands.”

“That hardly sounds like a good idea.” Louis points out, raising his eyebrows. “Maybe we’re just friends. Weird friends, but friends who… well y’know.”

Zayn and Liam seem to exchange a look between them, but Louis doesn’t catch enough of it to question anything.

“He has dropped almost completely off the radar; always busy, always tired. What’s the point?”

“Well he has been busy with all the restaurant stuff.” Niall appears again, slotting himself back into the conversation as if he had never been absent.

“Bakery, Niall.” Louis corrects.

“No, restaurant.” Niall says before Zayn reaches over and smacks the bare skin of his arm. “Oi, what the fuck Mal?”

“He’s not said anything about that…” Zayn says stuffily, and Louis feels his hostility rising inside of him as he realises there’s some sort of secret that he has been kept in the dark about, and seemingly everyone else knows.

“What are you on about?” He asks coolly, looking first at Liam then Zayn.

“Look, he didn’t say anything cuz…, well I dunno why, cuz he’s Harry, but he’s had an offer. A work thing. That’s what he’s been so busy with.”

“What do you mean an _offer_?” Louis spits incredulously, as the barman finally begins pulling their pints. “Do you have to be so Goddamn cryptic all the time, Mal?”

“Well, I think Harry should tell you, it’s his news after all.”

“Pffft, fat chance of that. The boy’s a bloody mute. He didn’t mention anything on Wednesday…” Louis trails off, wondering how Harry sat there by his side, held him in his arms, and didn’t think to mention some big, seemingly life changing news that he had received. “Some friend.”

“It’s not my position to tell, I don’t think.” Zayn says, trying to pass the buck evidently. Louis looks pleadingly at all of them to tell him but no one will meet his eye. Liam busies himself paying the barman.  
"What, so everyone knew about this but me, fucking great!" Louis sighs, reaching forward for one of the glasses that has been poured. "Why wouldn’t he tell me, did I scare him off?"

"You mighta scared him off." Niall says sagely, but his cheeky grin soon gives him away.

"Niall, shut up you tit," Zayn slaps his forearm against Niall's chest (again) and turns back to Louis. "Look mate, to tell you the God's honest, you need to be talkin' to him about this not us. We can't be your go betweens."

Damn. Well _that_ hurt.

"But... wow. Okay, right."

"Sorry, Lou." Zayn says unflinching. Liam looks uncomfortable and Niall unperturbed. "Y’know I’m right though."

Forced to ponder this for a moment, Louis supposes that Zayn might be right. How hard is it just to speak to Harry? _Very_ hard, is how hard. Every time he is around him Louis gets sweaty palms and verbal diarrhoea, if what he manages to get out of his mouth actually makes sense to begin with.

"Ed will be on soon." Niall says, matter-of-factly, and Louis feels momentary rage for his Irish friend’s inability to remain in the moment whenever anything less-than savoury is going down, but then he redeems himself with, "Let’s get back to your man, he looks lonely."

Louis cringes as Niall, Liam and Zayn all turn at once to look at Harry, who is sat perfectly minding his own business with a soft, almost humble smile and a large hand wrapped around his pint.

"C'mon, stop dawdling; let's get back to billy no mates over there." Niall quips and they each grab a pint each, Niall holding the edge of his crisp packet between his teeth, and they return to Harry, who looks up happily as they retake their places.

"So, Harry, I let it slip to Lou about your offer from work, hope you don't mind?" Niall says straight away before they've even had a chance to all sit down. _Okay, Niall, no time like the present_ , Louis thinks with a sinking feeling.

"Oh!" Harry looks startled but then his eyes fill with warmth almost immediately as he turns to Louis. "Yeah, I uh, sorry I didn’t say anything i just... well I didn’t know how it was gonna go."

"You told this lot." Louis finds himself saying. Apparently he is still sulking.

"Uh, I only told _Zayn._ " Harry corrects, still polite as all hell, for God sake. His cheeks flush and his other hand that had been resting by his side starts picking at a non-existent knot in the wooden table surface.

"I’ve gotta big mouth," Zayn says immediately, much to the amusement of Niall. "I told these guys."

"I’m sorry, I didn’t think." Harry’s eyes drop and he appears to be concentrating rather hard on scratching at the kink in the wood. Louis thinks he sees a tremble but he pushes that to the back of his mind. He can't deal with that now.

It probably isn’t a big deal, that’s the thing. Louis had had blips like this where things never got any further off the ground than the first kiss; it had just never been with someone from his friendship group before. Maybe he'll have to stop hanging around with Zayn until Harry moves out, whenever the hell that might be. It might be never. They might become best mates and Louis might have to relocate.

"I’m sorry." Harry says again, drawing Louis out of his internal meltdown. The words are tiny and soft and delicate and when Harry looks up his green eyes are so darkened they're almost grey. His eyes speak more words than his voice ever could and Louis suffers the proverbial punch in the gut as a result.

"It’s okay, I’m just being stupid." Louis says softly, though most of it is drowned out by the chatter of the pub. “It’s just, we coulda been celebrating it too. What with the baby and all that, it’s just another thing to celebrate.”

Harry blushes modestly and nods almost non-existently. Thankfully, Liam moves the conversation on with talk of the baby before anyone can say another word on the matter. Normally, they’d jeer at Liam until he changed the subject but everyone seems grateful for the shift in focus and indulges him until a spotlight nestled in the rafters of the pub ceiling springs into life and the now-heaving crowd around them stills.

For a moment he, and he supposes, everyone around him forgets everything as Ed creeps out onto the 'stage' with guitar in hand. He hasn’t changed a bit; the tips of his fiery red hair glow as he steps into the spotlight, and his olive green hoodie is one of his originals, Louis is sure.

"Hey guys, thanks for coming out tonight, it’s great to see so many of you here." The mainly female crowd whoops and he pauses, grinning like a mad man. In the interval, Louis sneaks a look at Harry who stands on his tiptoes despite his height advantage, wonderment splashed across his face as he hangs on Ed’s every word. Louis can’t help but smile, forgetting for a moment that there is anyone else in the world but Harry Styles.

"Me mates are in the back somewhere, Zayn and the lads, big up! I’ll catch up with you guys after the set." A few faces swivel around the room in search of these aforementioned friends, and Louis feels that familiar rush of superiority knowing that Ed is talking about him. Zayn, Niall and Liam too, of course, but he's part of it.

"Gonna kick off with You Need Me, I Don't Need You. Sing along if you can."

Harry does indeed, sing along under his breath. The entire time Ed sings he seems to be in a daze; his eyes glazed over and fixed on the front the whole time.

Niall slinks off to get another round of drinks in, and it occurs to Louis that he hasn’t paid for a single drink all night. He wonders how long that will last.

"Haz, love, drink!" Louis takes two pint glasses from the tray deposited by Niall and steps closer to Harry.

His dreamy expression solidifies as he focuses on Louis and he takes the beer with a grin. "This is bloody amazing!"

"I’m glad you're enjoying it."

"I suppose this is normal for you lot. I feel like such a fan." Harry takes a sip, sets down his glass with an appreciative smile and turns back towards where Ed is wrapping up the first song.

He launches straight into a cover 'Ain't No Sunshine' next and Louis remembers the many, many times they'd sang it at the tops of their drunken voices, initially changing the lyrics to _'...when he's gone'_ but swiftly changing them back at Louis' insistence.

That was followed by 'Give Me Love' and 'Drunk', then the whole place erupted at the opening lines of 'The A Team'. This is the lead single, the one everyone knows.

An intermission is called after ‘The A Team’. He slopes to the 'backstage area' with his guitar slung over his back, the noise of the crammed pub settling some in the interlude. Louis rolls his eyes at the thought of his one of his best friends sneaking 'backstage' with a security guard and a bloody makeup artist, for god sake.   
  


  
***  
  


  
“Bottoms up, lads!” Niall booms as he bounds alongside a tight-lipped, concentrating Liam carrying another tray of glowing amber beers over to their table.

Harry hadn’t even noticed anyone go back up to the bar. He wonders if he should maybe offer to get a round in?

They all make grabby hands for a beer each, only minimal spillage from Zayn occurring. Harry peers down at the tray with confusion, an extra beer sitting unclaimed on the tray, surrounded by rings of condensation from its recently departed fizzy friends.

“Think you got o-” _One too many,_ he was going to say, but as he looks up to find Niall’s face, another familiar face peers back at him and his mouth snaps closed abruptly. “Oh… oh! Um…?”

“Your face!” Niall hoots, throwing his arm around the newest member of the group. Ed flipping Sheeran. “Haz, as I’m sure you’re aware, this is Mr Edward Sheeran! Ed, this is Harry!”

Ed gives Niall a faux-disapproving look before holding out a hand to Harry. Ed looks at him expectantly but he can only stand there in awe, stuttering and blushing.

"I've heard all about you from Zayn!” Ed’s smile has an essence of knowing about it, and for a second Harry can’t remember his own name. He looks around the table at their faces beaming back, the smug bastards must have known all this time!

“Shake hands, Hazza,” Louis nudges him towards Ed, and as he does Harry feels the very tips of his fingers slip into his back pocket. “Sorry, he’s a little star struck. 'Ere is your Biggest Fan, Ed.”

"Y-yeah..." Harry stammers, finally moving forward and accepting Ed's hand in his. As Harry catches up with himself he realises he wants to know what Ed has supposedly heard about him and who from. He nods blindly as he's vaguely aware of Ed thanking him, before he moves to envelop Zayn in a big bear hug. They rock from side to side in each other’s arms, slapping and rubbing circles into each other’s backs.

Harry is happy to shrink into the background and watch as his new friends and his musical icon schmooze and share stories and play catch up. He doesn’t notice Niall whispering to Ed, something going on as they turn their backs. Zayn passes something to Niall, Niall passes something to Ed and the three of them erupt into riotous laughter that nudges Harry out of his daze.

“H, wakey wakey sunshine, got a pressie for yous!” Niall waves a hand in Harry’s face before handing him… a beer mat.

“What?” Harry says on an in breath, turning the slightly soggy cardboard over in his hands. What… oh. Oh! All he can do is laugh; join in with the others who find much delight in the ‘pressie’ that Niall arranged for him. He stares down at black scribble in the green space around the Heineken logo, ‘Harry, all the best, Ed xo’

“You’re welcome!” Niall shrieks red-faced, bellowing in his inebriation as Harry looks up dumbfounded.

Harry knows they’ll playfully rib him all night, painting him like some intense fan, but he clutches the beer sodden, scuffed edged Heineken beer mat proudly, deciding that now is a good time to let down his guard and just take this for what it is; an amazing night and he deserves to feel happy.

"Thank you, that’s... amazing."

"He’ll treasure that for the rest of his life!" Louis squawks, and he's not wrong.

Outside of the little bubble Harry had just burst out of, its loud and hectic and more and more people are lingering around them, trying to get close to Ed and scrutinize him and his friends. A stocky guy with an unshaven face and black round neck tucked into stonewash jeans approaches. He grips Ed's shoulders with force and leans in close to say something.

"Sorry guys, duty calls," Ed downs the last of his pint and throws up his signature two finger salute. "Enjoy the rest of the set, catch you after yeah?"  
  
  


***  
  
  


"C'mon, let’s get nearer the front." Zayn says, nodding over at two smaller circular tables nearer the front. They’re barely large enough to hold all their beer glasses. Liam and Niall spread their legs out wide around one table, while Zayn joins Harry around the second table. Once again, Louis misses out on a seat so drags one over and sort of hangs in limbo between the two, having to reach over to the other table for his drink every few seconds.

Ed restarts with ‘Lego House'. The whole pub seems to know the words, chanting along and raising the roof when Ed steps back from the microphone to let them carry the chorus. Louis has always liked this one. It had been the one he had listened to on repeat through his headphones on the night that Ed had texted them a group text to tell them he'd been signed to a label.

Afterwards, Ed takes a healthy sip of his beer with a grin as the crowd continues to cheer and hoot. He steps up to the microphone twice before he actually speaks.

"This is a new one. You mighta heard it? It’s called 'Sing', so if you can, please do."

He also plays 'Bloodstream' and 'Photograph'. They go down well, of course, and Ed stands grinning into his microphone as the noise from the crowd slowly dies down.

“This last one was written with the help of one of my old mates from home,” Ed rocks back and forth behind the microphone, the tinny delivery still drowned in the cheers from the crowd. Louis notices Niall and Zayn smirking and elbowing each other in what he assumes they think is a discrete manner. “I’ve been piecing this together for, well it’s been a month or so now, and I hope it stands up and I hope that this does their story justice.”

The hubbub in the crowd peters out as Ed pokes at the PA with the toe of his Etnies and strums a few chords of his guitar. It’s a slow one and a calm washes over the audience as the song starts and Ed’s voice fills the room, the background strumming the perfect, delicate accompaniment.

_“We're not, no we're not friends, nor have we ever been, we just try to keep those secrets in our lives, and if they find out, will it all go wrong? And Heaven knows, no one wants it to…”_

He freezes as he runs over Ed's introduction to this song again in his head. For a moment he feels like the only person in the room, in the world in fact. He listens as Ed continues to sing. Maybe he should pinch himself, how can this be real life? Things slot into place as the lyrics continue; he looks around to see Niall and Zayn smirking now, completely unabashed. Louis’ annoyance fades immediately into a fond roll of the eyes at the boys before he breaks out his infectious little grin and all three of them shared a look.

_“So I could take the back road, but your eyes will lead me straight back home…”_ He swallows hard as he feels a hand prod him in the side. _“And if you know me like I know you, you should love me, you should know.”_

He swallows down the solid lump that has formed in the back of his throat and turns to see Liam looking earnestly at him.  He follows the subtle change in direction that Liam’s attention takes. Harry has his hands dug deep into his jeans pockets and even in the dim and dingy light of the pub he can see the recognition on his face.  He holds himself in Liam’s attention for safety, suddenly unable to breathe. Liam must sense his panic; he smiles gently and wraps a supportive arm around Louis’ back. He hopes Liam can’t feel him shaking. Slowly but surely, Liam guides Louis over to Harry, swapping places so they are now standing next to each other.

Ed continues to sing, the words leaping out at Louis until he feels like he could swim in them. Harry's attention flickers across to him with the motion. _"…We're not friends, we could be anything, if we try to keep those secrets safe, no one will find out if it all went wrong. They'll never know what we've been through.”_

It’s becoming clear now what presumably Zayn has done. There’s no denying what this song and its bloody introduction are all about. He’d waited too long and his sodding friends had taken over and done it for him, like in fucking primary school.

_“…And friends don't treat me like you do. Well I know that there's a limit to everything, but my friends won't love me like you. No, my friends won't love me like you.”_

That little look that they'd shared is hardly a grand show of affectionate that you’d write about in your journal, but then again maybe it was just that. The whole room, not just Louis and Harry, hang on Ed’s every word. Goosebumps travel up Louis’ exposed skin as Harry inches ever so slightly nearer to him and their arms touch. Harry doesn’t look down but when Louis dares to peer up, Harry is looking straight ahead with a hint of a smile.

_“But then again, if we're not friends, someone else might love you too, and then again, if we're not friends, there'd be nothing I could do, and that's why friends should sleep in other beds, and friends shouldn't kiss me like you do. And I know that there's a limit to everything. But my friends won't love me like you. No, my friends won't love me like you do... Oh, my friends will never love me like… you.”_

The place bursts into rapturous applause as the music fades and Ed mumbles his appreciative thanks into the microphone. The PA picks up interference and the clang and bang of his guitar being placed down. He disappears from the stage with a two fingered salute, and the babble of the interval soon resumes.

*

Louis feels sick as it hits him. He doesn’t want to be Harry’s friend. Well, yes, of course he does, but he wants more. Needs more. He needs this pastry baking, curly haired angel in his life.

“So, I’m guessing I don’t need a degree to figure out you lot have been schemin’ behind me back!” He pounces on Niall at the bar, seeing his perfect opportunity present itself.

Niall touches a hand to his chest and exclaims in faux shock, “Tommo, do you think that little of me that I would meddle in my friend’s lives?”

“No, but I think Mally would.” Louis says, leaning one elbow against the bar as Niall rests a foot on the bar along the bottom of a nearby bar stool.

He looks like he’s going to keep the charade going but he dissolves into a chuckle and Louis slaps him for his troubles.  “We liked to think of it as giving you a helping hand.”

“I might not have wanted a helping hand.”  Louis points out, for some reason. Niall raises his eyebrows sceptically and they take a brief pause to order the beers. Louis reaches into his back pocket for his wallet and hands over a ten and a twenty to the barmaid.

"Bloody hell, y’feeling alright?" Niall jokes, reaching up to pretend to check Louis' forehead.

"Shut up you." Louis says as he tries to dodge the incoming hand.

“As I was sayin', as soon as Mal told me about it all, we needed to get the ball rollin’ on yours behalves.”

“Mal told you all about what?”

“Look, Lou,” Niall says, jumping up onto the stools foot rest so Louis has to look even higher up at him than he normally would. “There’s no harm done right? We’re all mates and we know what a bloody twat you can be when you’re stressin’ about something.”

“I’m just surprised that you lot actually managed to coordinate an operation this fucking complex.”

“Hey, you’re not the only one with university education, y’know?”

“Yeah, I forgot about Mal…” Louis says, clamping his tongue between his teeth with a grin as Niall flicks his forehead. he’s not sure Zayn’s art degree could really hold up in this argument but whatever.

“C’mon, let’s get the beers in an’ get you your man!”

*

The rest of the boys have relocated back to their original booth while Louis and Niall were at the bar. They’re all present and correct plus one special addition.

Ed has a full pint plus about three quarters of another in his hand when he re-joins them. The Rolleston doesn’t have a VIP area that they can move to, so a few hangers on linger around them. Louis has seen this kind of thing before but it’s still a surprise to see people falling over themselves to get a selfie with Ed. He smiles absentmindedly as he remembers Harry and his beermat. He looks over at him to see the thin cardboard still clutched in his hand.

“There’s my biggest fan!” Ed beams as he flops himself unceremoniously onto the bench next to Harry. Louis smiles to himself as Harry blushes and smiles, his eyes darting about everywhere as Ed moves around in his normal, unassuming way that he is so used to.

“Speaking of fans,” Darrell, Ed’s security guard – no, he’s not used to _that_ yet – appears at the table as if by magic. He jerks his head in the direction of a crowd of girls that are loitering not too far away from them.

“Hi girls, how’s it going?” Ed leans out of the booth to greet the girls, before graciously sliding himself back off the bench to greet them personally. They chatter nervously, little giggles rippling out of the small group that has formed. Camera flashes draw more attention as they hold up their phones to take selfies.

Louis looks away from the scene and back down at his drink. There are precisely five people too many around the table for Louis; the one he really wants to speak to has figuratively curled up into the foetal position and started ignoring him.

Ed is chaperoned away just after midnight; his minder very patient and accommodating of his requests for ten more minutes. Before long, there are no more minutes and he is told rather forcefully that it’s time to be packing up.

“I called your driver, he should be here in about fifteen minutes, okay?” Darrell informs them, shaking hands with Zayn.

After many hugs and cheeky slaps on the arse are exchanged, Harry squealing in delight when Ed slaps a kiss on his forehead, Niall, Liam and Zayn break for a smoke 'while they still can', and disappear through the emptying pub to the beer garden. In a moment of panic, Louis abandons Harry and darts after them.

The night time has done little to subdue the blistering heat; the whole place is drenched in sticky sweet heat from the day. Fairy lights strung around the top of the battered fencing illuminate the deck, highlighting the legions of empty glasses and full ashtrays.

Niall is sipping a Smirnoff Ice through a straw, apparently. Louis slide into the group between Niall and Liam, opposite Zayn, ignoring what feels like every single pair of eyes on him. Quite uncharacteristically, he motions for Niall to let him have a drag.

“Louis Tomlinson, what would your mother say?” Niall guffaws as Louis blows smoke in Liam's face, earning him a slap.

“Pass us the puff, probably!” Louis deadpans through the cloud of smoke of his second drag. A wave of laughter goes round the circle they have subconsciously formed.

“Tommo, can I ask you a question?” Liam asks, matter-of-factly. “An honest to God, real question?”

He nods, unsure if he likes where he thinks this is going.

“Why the fuck are you stood ‘ere with us pretending to smoke when Harry is sat in there?”

“I…”

“Tommo!” Zayn shouts, taking them all by surprise. “Get the fuck in there and sort out… whatever it is you gotta sort, okay?”

“We won’t tell you again!” Liam says with a laugh, grabbing Louis by the shoulders and directing his friend back inside.  
He leaves the other three making crude 'daddy' and 'boss' jokes, so it seems like he made it out at just the right time.

Back inside, the spot that Harry had occupied is gone, saturated rings where their glasses had been the only trace there was ever anyone there.

He looks around; people are dismantling the 'stage' and a barmaid dressed all in black is doing the rounds with an empty glass tucked onto each finger. Eventually, he spies Harry through the coloured glass panels in the pub doors.   
He's perched on a low level brick wall that surrounds a bright, flowering purple bush of some description. His feet are stretched out in front of him, crossed over at the ankles and he's looking the opposite way; across the car park. He’s still got that damn beer mat in his hand.

The squeak of the door on it hinges and the gravel underfoot alerts him to his presence, and he turns with an automatic smile.

“Hi-ho,” Harry says softly, and Louis wonders if this kid had ever had an enemy in his life. “Back from hanging with the cool kids?”

“Yeah,” Louis laughs, heat building up behind his ribcage.

"Just thought I’d get some air. Keep an eye out for the car, y'know?"

"S’okay." Louis takes the liberty of setting himself down on the wall next to Harry. He can smell smoke on himself and he suspects Harry will be able to too. Great.

“I’m, sorry for not telling you about the restaurant. I just… I wanted it to be all perfect before I told you. I only signed the contract Wednesday night. I mean, I only told Zayn because he would notice me going back to work every night.” Harry pauses to kick away a larger chunk of gravel with the toe of his shoe. “I wanted to wait until I had some proper news. Something to make you…”

He trails off and doesn’t ever finish his sentence. Louis agonises over what Harry was going to finish with, but dismisses it when he realises what Harry is implying. “I’m so happy for you that you’ve got this opportunity. It’s massive.”

“I know!” Harry says stiffly with a grimace. “It’s nerve-wracking.”

“It’s great, love.” Louis runs a hand over Harry’s thigh supportively before retracting it again. “Did you like tonight?”

"Yeah, top night!" Harry lifts the beer mat up and the movement wafts the air around them. "It was all... amazing really."

“This whole song thing, I didn’t know anything about it I swear.” Louis says, pushing his hands into his jacket pocket.

"Did you... I liked it."

Louis isn’t too sure what to make of that.  So he swallows thickly and says the first thing that comes into his mind. "It was about us wasn’t it?"

Harry pauses then nods. In the smallest voice known to man, he says "I think so."

"I’m sorry if you're freaked out."

Harry pauses again and Louis can feel his anxiety levels rising. Eventually, he breaks into a smile. "I’m not freaked out. Are you?"

Louis shakes his head immediately; foregoing the painful pauses that Harry seems so fond of.

“It’s pretty cool though, isn’t it? To have a song written about you, well mostly about you, by Ed Sheeran.”

“Well it definitely beats the last one he wrote about me.” Louis says flatly, thinking about the ode to Louis' arse that Ed had written during the summer of 2010. Harry looks like he wants to ask more. “Don’t ask.”

Silence ensues and it gives Louis time to think. Too much time to think. His mind runs away with him as he realises it’s the end of the night and they now have a bloody song written about them and he still hasn’t grown balls capable of actually confronting Harry about what he wants. The pub doors burst open and it’s a gaggle of Ed's fans. God, what they probably wouldn’t give to have Ed Sheeran write a song about them, he thinks. It’s actually not all it’s cracked up to be though. Especially when you're stuck in limbo with no sign of rescue.

"The car shouldn’t be too long now," Louis says, just to break the suffocating silence, and he immediately regrets his choice.  It sounds like he can’t wait for the night to be over. Can’t wait to be away from Harry and this whole sorry mess.

"Yeah," Harry agrees after a killer pause. Louis daren’t look but if did he'd probably see hurt in Harry’s eyes. "Be good to get to bed. It’s been a long day."

Louis nods solemnly although he doesn’t agree at all. "It has." _What the hell is he doing?_

Right on cue, their car pulls up in the car park, parking over three spaces diagonally. Luckily, the other three erupt raucously out of the door at that moment, wailing and shrieking incoherent messages and greetings as they spot them.

The drunken trio regroup into a conga line and shuffle uncoordinatedly towards the open car doors, lead by Niall and singing _“Do-do-do, our driver has arr-i-i-ved, do-do-do, our driver has arrived!”_ to the tune of ‘come one and do the conga’.

That leaves Louis and Harry to follow behind, still so much left unsaid. Louis gets to his feet first; aware of Harry following behind him a fraction later. He catches up as Louis pauses to wait for Liam to hoik himself uncoordinatedly up into the vehicle. He can feel Harry so close behind him, they're not touching but it feels like they couldn’t be any closer. He braves a quick look over his shoulder up at Harry, who gives him a reassuring smile and suddenly he doesn’t feel so bad any more.

There is no champagne for their homeward journey, which is probably for the best; they've all already had too much. Niall especially. He is loud and giggly still as Zayn starts to hit a wall and Liam gets his phone out to check in with Sophia.

No one really pays attention to anyone else; Niall makes a few feeble attempts to get Liam off his phone but Liam swats at him distractedly and it goes no further than that. No one notices Louis and Harry next to each other, their thighs touching as they sit side-by-side saying nothing but also a million things.

The car drops them off at Zayn’s; Niall's request for individual drop-offs not taken to too kindly to by the driver.

Drunk Liam becomes Responsible Liam again as they make their way disruptively up the stairwell of Zayn’s building. Liam shushes them noisily which in the end probably adds to their volume not reduces it.

Niall cracks open a warm beer that was left unopened on the coffee table all those hours ago before they headed out.

"How the fuck..." is as far as Liam gets in his quest to question his friends drinking abilities.

Louis hovers momentarily, unsure of where to position himself. He doesn’t want another beer, thank you Niall. He would kind of like something to eat and a cuppa tea, but that seems unlikely.

"Sophia’s downsa-stairs." Liam slurs from his vantage point at the window, not one minute after they'd made it through the door.

Niall and Liam disappear together, followed by Zayn’s incoherent mumbling about something about going to the loo and brush his teeth.

Liam hadn’t offered (on Sophia’s behalf) to give him a lift, but that was okay. Reflecting on their depleting numbers, Louis heads towards the front door, wishing he had a jacket or a bag or something to use as a distraction for his fidgety hands.

"Right well, tell Zayn I’ll see 'im?" He begins, edging further towards the door without any real gusto.

Harry stays sort of idling in the middle of the room like a frozen computer game character; suspended in air, having not moved more than an inch or so since Liam and Niall left. Louis thinks he maybe sees him nod, and he takes another step closer to the door then stops to pretend to check the time on his phone.

He notes its 01:18, though he wasn’t really interested. "Right, well-"

"Stay?" Harry reaches out and grabs Louis’ hand, the single word soft enough that he only just hears it. In the middle of the empty living room, with the distant clanging of Zayn trying to manoeuvre the bathroom, it’s the end of the night and it’s just the two of them. With one leg poised ready to head towards the door and Harry’s firm grip still encasing his own clammy palm, everything slots into place.

"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what’s coming next! Eeeee!
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Tumblr: mummyamy10


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a really hard time writing and editing this part because of all the smut, I hope its at least half okay.......
> 
>  
> 
> (that sounds like a bad pun but it isn't!)

Painfully aware that they’re in Zayn’s flat and, ergo, not alone, they both try to shush each other as they fall back onto Harry’s bed; Harry’s first layer of clothing removed and flung to the floor along with Louis’ t-shirt.

“God, you’re so amazing, I can’t believe this is finally ‘appening.” Louis breathes, slotting his fingers into Harry’s curls, examining every single millimetre of his face with his curls pushed back, nothing to hide.

Harry looms above him, holding himself up effortlessly on decorated arms that bulge with wraps of muscle that Louis hadn't noticed up until this point. He needs to get him out of his t-shirt.

The white material is almost see-through and the neckline gapes with his elevated position. True enough, his prediction from earlier in the day was correct; Harry has two birds tattooed onto his chest. Louis thinks they’re maybe a little bit sailor-y, but most of all he just wants to kiss and/or lick them.

He stares deep into Harry’s eyes, close enough to see the sparkling splattering of amber in the green. He drinks up the safe and familiar squiggly lines around his eyes and the worry chewed into his lower lip. Pink and full and ready to go.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He utters, and Harry's tongue shoots out quickly to wet his lips. His voice comes out all scratchy and whispery and Harry seems to react well to that as he urgently crashes their lips back together, the stark contrast between prickly stubble and soft plush lips electric. Louis ventures his hand underneath the gaping material of Harry’s t-shirt.

Harry groans softly into his mouth as Louis’ fingertips ghost over his protruding hip bones. Louis brushes his fingers through a light dusting of hair leading down from Harry's bellybutton to beyond the impossible tiny waistline of his jeans.

“Off.” He says simply, tugging at Harry’s t-shirt insistently. Dutifully, Harry recoils and rests on his knees, extending his impressive upper body with Louis still positioned between his legs. He shrugs out of his t-shirt in one fluid movement, his muscles rippling across the back of his shoulders and his chest as he contorts out of the offending article.

The words Louis wants to say are stuck somewhere between his brain and his throat, so he wordlessly eyes the expanse of beautiful skin before lifting his gaze back up to Harry.

“Alright babe?” Harry asks quietly, his eyebrows knitting into a contemplative frown as Louis falters beneath him.

“Yes,” Louis croaks, vision refocusing as he concentrates. “More than alright.”

Harry mutters ‘good’ under his breath, but it is lost in a kiss. Louis grazes his knuckles against the firm column of Harry’s arm, flexed to support his weight, before moving the same hand up to slot back in between the chestnut curls. He whines into Harry's mouth as the man lets himself down onto one elbow. He drapes the other arm across Louis’ body and places a large, flat palm over his chest. Louis wonders momentarily if perhaps Harry can feel how fast his heart is beating.

“I can’t not be with you.” Harry retracts his lips from Louis' to say. He inches his hand lower down Louis’ chest, ghosting his flattened palm over one nipple before manipulating it softly between his fingertips. Louis wriggles under the teasing action and Harry’s satisfied smirk shows he is obviously pleased with the reaction he is eliciting from him.

“That’s a double negative…” Louis manages to get out, breathless as Harry’s hand continues to slide lower down, over the ridges and concaves of his stomach muscles.

“Sorry, Mr Tomlinson,” Harry says wickedly with a glint in his eye. His hand pauses where Louis' skin ends and his jeans begin, before smoothing his hand over the material that stretches over Louis' growing bulge. He squeezes his grip ever so slightly over the swell before replacing his hand on Louis' tummy once again.

Suddenly Louis can’t breathe for the sheer force of the want he feels for Harry.

"Fuck, touch me again." Louis encourages, desperate for the contact again now he has had it once. Thankfully, Harry does as is asked of him without delay, coming off his elbow and dropping onto his side, presumably for comfort. Louis turns himself also so that they're facing each other, noses millimetres apart.

"I wanna touch you," Louis murmurs. Harry grunts distractedly which Louis takes to mean yes, please do. The sheer thrill of everything charges through Louis' body; he can practically feel himself getting harder. He reaches down and to feel Harry's cock through his jeans.

_Fuck_ , he thinks to himself as his fingers make contact with the solid mass Harry is concealing in his jeans. Even from this weird angle, Louis can feel several inches of solid length.

Harry has Louis' jeans unbuttoned before Louis catches up and dutifully tackles the fly of the younger man's jeans. "Can't wait to touch you properly." He utters into Harry's shoulder as he pours his concentration into getting the damn buttons undone.

"Fuck... shit, just... there! Sorry." Louis mutters, half laughing as he battles to get Harry undressed. The other man does not help by pressing kisses to his temple as he works away. They giggle together as they wriggle out of their jeans, their denim prisons ending up in a messy knot in and around the duvet kicked to the end of the bed.

Louis lowers his hand under the elasticated waistband first, brushing his fingers through a trimmed expanse of hair before his fingers come into contact with the warm skin of Harry's cock. Hell, every inch of this boy's being is warmth but this is something else.

Harry shudders next to him as he wraps a hand around the length, dragging his lips from his temple, down the side of his face to his lips. He introduces his hand too, and Louis staggers a groan right into Harry's mouth.

"Fuck," Harry repeats over and over as Louis slowly begins to tease, pumping twice then swirling his hand over the head in a figure-eight of sorts.

Harry jerks again at that and Louis mentally notes that seemed to be well received. As if woken by the tossing Louis is casually demonstrating, Harry's own hand slides into motion, tracing the surrounding area gently then building up to a steady, whole-handed rhythm.

Louis buries his head into Harry's chest, mumbling incoherent versions of 'feels so good' against the warm, decorated skin. Harry fills his hand, smooth and warm and Louis' mouth fills with saliva as an idea crosses his mind.

"Can I...?" He asks raspily, licking his lips and swallowing hard. He lowers his eyes and Harry's own eyes bulge, nodding profusely nonetheless.

They let go of each other in tandem and Louis feels Harry watching him as he shifts down the bed. In the inky blue light of the room, Harry's fingers tousle around his hair as he gives the length a quick examine. It'd felt big in his hand, and pressed against him, but up close it's another story.

Harry, now flat on his back on the bed, shifts a leg so Louis can settle between. Half on the bed and half off with his knees on the carpet, Louis takes one last look up at Harry. he's craning his neck off the pillow looking at him with something like concern.

With a deep breath, he leans in and presses the tip of his nose to the skin of Harry's inner thigh. He takes a second before pressing a kiss into the fleshy area. He trails another and another, across the leg to the area around the base. Harry's length is jerking around as he whimpers and fidgets.

"Lou..." He utters, and Louis can see Harry at the top of his vision throw an arm over his face and sink back down into the covers.

Catching Harry mid-twitch, he secures him in place and, starting at the bottom and working up, licks a clean stripe up on both sides, before closing his mouth over the head and suckling down about a half way.

The taste and the smell and the fullness is just so much; he can't quite believe he's actually here. He rocks himself forward slightly to get a better angle and sinks down until the head hits the back of his throat. His lips stretch obscenely and tears are already pricking behind his eyelids as he gags himself with Harry.

Sliding back up, he begins to suck in short little bursts on the tip. Harry's hips lift slightly off the bed each time he swoops his tongue around the perimeter of the head. Adding a tightly clamped hand around the bottom few inches, he settles quickly into a rhythm; up and down, up and down with special attention to the tip. he points his tongue and narrows it along the slit, before flattening it to lick around the bumpy underside. He tastes little sprinkles of pre-come as he suckles the smooth, shiny head.

Harry's whimpers intensify and Louis finds himself moaning insatiably onto Harry's cock with his own brand of enthusiasm as the noises escaping from Harry's lips shoot straight to his own hard cock.

"Fuck, Lou, so good." Harry utters, his voice strangled and far away as Louis continues to tease the head. It's been so long since he made any recognisable noise, Louis was a little surprised.

Harry is big. Quite possibly the biggest Louis has ever had, there's no two ways about it. He pops off the top, catching his breath and composure for a moment, before relaxing his throat the best he can and sinking Harry back down to the back of his throat. Harry and his impressive width are everywhere; the roof of his mouth, the insides of his cheeks, the flat of his tongue.

He continues in that pattern for a while, bobbing up and immediately back down again, Harry hitting the back of his throat again.

"I'm cl... I'm gonna..." Harry's sighs and cries slowly gain pace and suddenly he is shouting out as Louis' bobbing up and down reaches its peak. He slows his pace and sinks his mouth down onto Harry as far as he can so that when he shoots salty ribbons down the back of his throat, they're swallowed down without event.

As Harry's chest heaves fiercely and his breathing begins to slowly clear, Louis slides his mouth off Harry, flattening his tongue along every ridge and bump as he goes.

Free from his mouth, Harry's cock twitches madly as it settles back down on Harry's tummy, glossy and pink and slick. The distorted light from the moon at the height of the open window catches on the glistening head and Louis finds it oddly poetic.

Realising he has legitimately been staring at a softening cock, he rocks forward onto his hands and knees and glides up Harry's body, careful not to drag his flesh over Harry's hypersensitive area.

"Your cock is beautiful," Louis says, the first thing that comes to mind, and whilst it certainly isn't a lie, its probably not what he should have said.

Harry snorts and covers his face with his hands. Giggling against his palms he mumbles, "Thank you!"

"Sorry if I can't think straight," Louis whispers, "I just gave the man of my dreams a blowie, my mind is all over the place."

"Man of your dreams, eh?" Harry separates two fingers and looks out, wide eyed. Momentarily, Louis panics until Harry removes his hands and his smile is warm and wide and genuine. "It was very nice. The whole night has been nice. The last three months or so have been nice."

Louis isn't sure about that; he thinks it's been rather fraught. Stressful, even. But right now, nothing could make him feel bad.

"You're so perfect." Louis says sincerely, nudging an escaped curl away from Harry's eye with his nose and pressing a kiss above his eyebrow. The skin is sweet but slightly salty from sweat; he tastes amazing.

"I'm not," Harry says softly, lifting his head up to indicate he wants a kiss. Louis doesn't think about the implication of that until their lips are already dancing together and Harry's tongue is slipping hungrily into his mouth.

Eventually, they separate and lay together on the bed silently. Their breathing has almost returned to normal and they've entered the blissed out, peaceful post-coital haze that Louis had admittedly missed.

He presses his tired body into the mattress, unfamiliar scented fabric softener invading his senses and mixing with the familiar presence of Harry and everything that becomes him.

Harry, who is equally as sated and lax next to him, flops an arm across his abdomen and wiggles his fingers. Instinctively, Louis raises his opposite arm and links their fingers together. He peers down his nose at their hands linked together, rising and sinking calmly with the in and out of his now-settled breathing.

“I was right,” Harry says scratchily, and it’s so soft and so understated Louis almost misses it.

“Right about what?” He asks, turning his head to the right to look at him. He takes in Harry’s strong profile; jutting slightly bristly chin and plump, worked over pink lips.

As Harry turns to face him too, Louis sees those lips shift into an embarrassed, coy little smile. “I, uh, earlier, at the pub, I thought to myself this is the best night of my life.” Harry says, pausing for a beat which kills Louis. “I was right.”

Louis feels a proud lurch in his chest as Harry’s words tumble around in his head. “I’m happy that you’re happy. I’m happy too.”

“That’s a lot of happy.” Harry says with a smile.

They lie together some more in beautiful silence; Louis' eyelids quickly getting heavy. Somewhere down the hall the boiler creaks and a car door outside slams. Their hands are still linked, never wavering and Louis really could die happy now.

A wee and brushing his teeth and finding something to wear are really low on his list of priorities.

 

***

 

Louis wakes himself up the next morning turning over. He traps himself under the covers by rolling over them, and battles to free himself. As he opens one eye, he sees a beautiful peachy-purpley-blue sky outside the window. It takes a moment to acclimatise and remember where he is. He can feel Harry next to him but he doesn’t look. He clamps his eyes closed again and just lays there, trying to be as still as he can. He can hear Harry’s finger tapping against the glass of his phone screen and the boy breathes heavily.

“I know you're awake.” Harry's voice suddenly pierces the silence and Louis opens one eye cautiously. He's put his phone away now and is looking down at him with a smirk; his hair pulled away from his face in a messy bun. He wears - barely - the grey shirt from last night, unbuttoned to the bellybutton.

Louis scrambles to prop himself up on his elbow, aware of just how bloody awful he must look and just how ethereal Harry looks, even at ridiculous o' clock in the morning. Covering his mouth with his hand, he asks, “What times it?”

“Just gone eight.” Harry answers, and Louis pulls a face behind his palm. Evidently, he doesn’t do well at hiding it because Harry lets out an uncontrolled, throaty laugh. “Sorry for the early morning wake up call.”

“I’ve woken up to worse.” Louis says, before realising how that sounded. “Not like that! I mean…”

“Lou, it’s okay.” Harry dismisses Louis’ flyaway comment and shuffles his bum down the bed so they’re on the same level. “Move your hand.”

“I don’t wanna,” Louis says. “Bed breath.”

“I don’t care.” Harry tells him plainly. He reaches out for Louis’ hand clamped round his mouth and peels it away. He presses a simple kiss into Louis’ chapped lips and Louis cringes internally that he is so disgusting right now. Softly, Harry says, “That’s better.”

“I’m gross, what are you on about?”

“You aren’t. Shut up.” Harry says decisively, though a smile plays on his lips that Louis suspects he is killing himself trying to suppress.

“Oooh, feisty!” He chuckles, pressing a finger against the little scrapings of ink that expose themselves on Harry’s chest. His pecs bloom with his sideways stance and Louis wonders momentarily whether it would be inappropriate to smush his face between them.

“I would never peg you as a tattoo person.” He says honestly. The black etchings surprise him every time he sees them, even still.

“I don’t know how it escalated, to be honest. It started with one home made tattoo and went from there.”

“Which was your first?”

“A stupid one. I don’t wanna say.”

“Go on, you tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

“What? You don’t… do you? I never-”

“I’m a man of mystery me. I might have a few. I might not. Tell me your story, I bet its not that stupid.”

Sighing largely, Harry relents finally. “Fine. But it is stupid. I got ‘Big’ tattooed on my big toe.”

Louis is silent for a moment before barking out a laugh. He certainly hadn't noticed that one while they’d been… intimate. “Oh God, that is cringe! You saddo! Why?”

“It was a bet.”

“No, I’m sorry, I retract my previous statement. I would never peg you as a drunken, home made tattoo person. Who are you?”

“I never said I was drunk!”

“C’mon, that’s actually a better excuse, Haz. I'd go with that in future.”

“Now, what tattoos have you got? I’ve seen you naked and I didn't see any.”

“You obviously don’t look close enough then!” Louis says, enjoying this gentle, easy back-and-forth they’ve got going. “Nah, when I was seventeen a mate’s brother did it. Just one; a small triangle on my ankle.”

“That’s a pretty awesome tattoo to have.” Harry seems impressed. His mum <hadn’t> been. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice it. I had… other things on my mind.”

“Shut up,” Louis says bashfully, feeling embarrassed. “I felt like that one was a good statement to make. I never liked them really, on me I mean, but I don't mind that pointy little bugger.”

“I dunno, you’d look good with tattoos I think.”

“I hardly fit the bad boy image though, do I?” Louis points out with a laugh.

“What, and I do?” Harry fires back quickly and Louis supposes this is true. "C'mon, it's Saturday, Zayn won't be awake for hours yet. Let me make you breakfast."

Harry wiggles his eyebrows and grins widely like a mad man, but Louis doesn't need much persuading. Dressed entirely in last night's clothes, he follows Harry out of the bedroom into the hallway. Not saying a word, Harry reaches back and feels blindly for his hand. He holds it out for Harry and together they creep down the hallway, through the living room to the kitchen.

"What do you fancy?" Harry asks, voice almost returned to normal levels as he pokes around in the cupboards.

"You?" Louis asks, which earns him a snort and a smile.

"You've had me." Harry replies, teasingly. He doesn’t look away from the cupboard but Louis can see his cheeks risen into a smile in his profile.

"More of you."

"Maybe for lunch?" Harry says, and this time its Louis' turn to snort.

"Is this your way of telling me you're into food play?”

"Wouldn't you like to know!" Harry closes the cupboard he's been peering into and drops down to the under counter fridge.

"You don’t have to drop to your knees for me right here in the kitchen, Harry!" Louis jokes, grabbing Harry's bun and wiggling it so it wilts even more.

"Oi, gerroff you!" Harry pouts as he looks in the fridge. "Bacon sandwiches okay?"

It doesn’t sound much like a question, but when it comes to bacon sandwiches there really are no questions, just answers. "Yeah, I can get behind that notion."

"Stop it with the sex references you two!" Zayn's sleepy voice comes from behind them, surprising them both into panic stricken, giggling messes.

"Zayn!" Harry is first to react, jumping to his feet with bacon in one hand and the Flora spread in the other. "Hello! um-"

"Young Louis," Zayn looks directly at Louis. "What are you doing in my kitchen at...8.38am? Oh, and if the next words out of your mouth are lies, I’m slapping you."

He is grinning like a mad man and between him and Harry, Louis knows he doesn’t need an excuse. "I uh... we-"

"Did you have a sleepover, boys?" Zayn asks, sarcastic and patronising as hell.

As Harry nods silently, Zayn does something Louis isn’t expecting. He launches at Harry with his arms wide open. His darker, lanky limbs envelope Harry into a tight cuddle and Harry only just drops the foodstuffs on the counter in time.

The two of them sway back and forth for a moment in the middle of the kitchen. Louis blinks furiously at the sight, just in time for Zayn to wriggle out of Harry's grip and into his.

"Well done, kid." Zayn says into Louis' shoulder as he squeezes the very life out of him.

Louis feels much lighter after that. Now, half of their friends know and the other half are just waiting for the official confirmation. He feels a little silly as he giggles, awash with emotions. “Shut up.” He mutters to Zayn as he smirks at him with his head cocked to the side.

“I didn’t say anything!” Zayn defends himself, hands in the air, but he knows full well what he is doing. “Louis, can you tell your boyfriend to hurry up and make me brekkie, please?”

Louis keens at that but his happiness at hearing the 'B word’ is restrained as his eyes fly over to Harry.

Relief washes over him as he sees Harry beaming back at the scene, apparently unaffected by Zayn’s comment. He would have preferred it if they’d had the chance to discuss it between themselves first, but in the grand scheme of things it’s not that important really.

  
*

After breakfast, they return to bed, promising to be quiet. Their promise lasts all of ten minutes.

Louis shrieks involuntarily as Harry slips beneath the covers and tugs on the waist band of his bottoms.

"Stop squirming, I owe you a blow job and I'm gonna give it to you now!" Harry hisses, biting at the skin of Louis' thigh.

Louis yelps again and tries to buck his legs up to no avail. Harry calms him down by shuffling off his elbows and smooths his flat palms over Louis' thighs, brushing his finger tips over the softened, sensitive skin of Louis' inner thigh.

Louis stammers as he struggles to calm his breathing down. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry!"

As Louis stills finally, Harry uses his hand to his advantage and takes Louis' half hard cock in his hand. With his thumb and forefinger he languidly tosses up and down. It doesn't take long before Louis is hard. He bites down on the joint of his thumb in an attempt to keep quiet and cause himself pain enough to take his mind off the fact he wants to rut his hips up into Harry's fist.

"You want me to suck you off?" Harry double checks, his mouth already poised. The warmth of his breath sends goosebumps shooting up all over Louis, starting on his tummy and working upwards.

"Y-yes." He utters breathlessly with a feeling he knows what's coming next. "Do I have t'beg?"

"Not beg," Harry says, teasingly in a voice Louis has never heard before. "Just tell me how much you want it?"

"A lot." Louis says plainly, maybe stupidly. "The most. It's all I want, don't tease me..."

Louis' mind swims as Harry finally closes his mouth over his head and sinks down with his tongue pressed flat against his length. It's so soft and wide, encompassing the entire one side. As he suckles a bit tighter his foreskin rolls down and his exposed head hits the back of Harry's throat. Harry's lips wrap around him and strain as he slinks up and then straight back down again, his entire cock now slick from Harry's tongue.

Harry lets out little whimpers in the back of his throat as he deep throats, which in turn sends sparks shooting through Louis. He feels like it might not even be long before he comes at this rate, the little tickles from the filthy sounds sending him closer and closer to the edge. He heaves himself up on one arm and strains to watch the display.

"F-fuck Harry. You're, this is..." Harry drags his mouth up to his tip, sucking hard until Louis' head is the only part filling his mouth. He links two fingers around the base to keep Louis steady and plays with the head, suckling and morphing the fleshy, flexible organ around his mouth; gently rubbing it against the back of his teeth, rolling his tongue over every crevice and clamping down around it and giving pulsing little sucks. Every once in a while, he'll sigh or shudder again and Louis can't help but to cry out.

"S'good?"Harry asks, popping off long enough to ask. Louis can only nod as he falls back off his elbow and sinks into the mattress. His head is mostly off the pillow so he reaches above and grabs for it.

As he tosses the unwanted sleep aide to the floor, Harry looks up to see what the commotion was. His eyes are pink and glazed and his lips form a perfect shiny pink O around Louis' cock. It's enough to send Louis right to the edge, watching Harry with his mouth full of him, lips stretched and eyes glossy.

"I'm gonna come, don't stop." He murmurs urgently, desperately grabbing the bed sheets around him to get some fabric between his fingers.

Harry seems to have impeccable judgement. He slides back down to the base and rocks his head back and forth rhythmically for five more turns before he slams Louis' head into the back of his throat and groans hungrily as Louis shoots burning hot ribbons right down the back.

Harry keeps his mouth on him even after he's come and he's beginning to twitch and soften. He breathes heavily though his nose and Louis feels it on his tummy, just where his dusting of brown hairs narrow into a little path up to his belly button.

"Was that okay?" Harry asks, opening his mouth and letting Louis' fading erection slap against his belly.

"Fuck, are you kidding me? More than okay, Harry." He strains his neck painfully to look up at Harry. He jerks his head for Harry to come up, which he does. He wastes no time in motioning Harry in for a kiss.

He can taste himself on the tip of Harry's tongue and a vivid flashback to a few moments before bursts before his eyes. He urges to deepen the kiss, desperate for his own tongue to explore every inch of Harry's mouth, feel every edge and every smooth spot.

"You're amazing." He breaks away when he becomes breathless.

"You too." Harry says immediately, his eyes smile before his mouth does. "In every way."

"What did I do to deserve someone like you?" Louis asks, suddenly feeling naked in more ways than one. The last perosn he'd been anywhere like near here with was Dan, and that had been a million miles away from the little slither of Harry he has experienced so far. After Dan, he'd wanted to run a mile not stare into his eyes until the cows came home and later.

"You're amazing, Lou." Harry says again. "Honestly, like, I'm so glad you're you and I'm me and we're us together... if that makes sense?"

Louis laughs softly out of his nose. "Weirdly enough, that made perfect sense."

*

"What d'you wanna do for the rest of the day?" Harry asks as he sits on the edge of his bed with his shirt undone and one leg in a clean pair of boxers.

"I don't wanna go anywhere 'less its with you." Louis says, which is cheesy but true. He's still lounging in the bed; mildly disgusted with himself for how musky and creased his clothes are.

"It looks like a nice day," Harry gets up slowly and ventures towards the window. "Shame to waste it. Wanna go somewhere? Let's go for a walk through Salford, the bridge an' all that?"

"Dressed 'ike this?" He says sceptically, gesturing to his attire. Ordinarily, he would love to get out. The curtains billow around them and he looks through the gap. It's obviously warm, he doesn't need a Meteorology degree to tell that. A walk around Salford does sound nice.

"Your jeans're fine, you can borrow one of my t-shirts. It won't be too baggy will it?" Harry begins to rifle through his draws, eventually pulling out a plain white round neck short sleeve t-shirt. "Here."

"Yeah, alright. I guess I could put up with you for a little while longer."

Harry flicks one of his elastic hair ties at him and Louis calls him a twat.

*

It's warm under the early afternoon sun and Louis shucks off his jacket early on. It’s an inconvenience to carry it, sure, but he'd rather be slightly inconvenienced than a red faced, out of breath, sweaty mess on his first kind-of-sort-of official outing with Harry.

Once they escape the build-up of the town and the main road, get off the beaten track, the noise around them drops and they join hands to stroll over the bridge. The motion of the water on either side is normally enough to give Louis his sea legs but he's so distracted by having Harry with him he doesn’t notice it this time.

They make their way slowly past the Lowry and bustling shops opposite. Despite the crowds around them, it’s like they're the only two in the world as they make their way slowly around the area. The sun beats down in warm shafts through every available gap in the architecture and it's not just the weather that makes Louis feel warm inside.

They end up in Pizza Express for lunch, Louis not ashamed to brandish his 40% off lunch coupon for the waitress. While they wait for their food they sip Coke's and battle for victory with their feet under the table. As they share a large Pollo Forza pizza, Louis asks Harry more about his new job and listens in awe as the younger boy chatters enthusiastically through most of the dining trip, pausing barely to chew his slice.

As they wait for the waitress to bring them another drink, they communicate almost solely in personal puns and innuendos about the night before and the morning and all the times they’ve missed out on by beating around the bush and not being honest with each other. As they split the bill - in spite of Harry's insistence that he would pay as it was his idea - they talk about the upcoming weeks and what that might entail.

Louis is decidedly more uncomfortable on the walk home, being full of carbs and fizzy drink. They take a slow amble back, hopping on the first tram they can find when walking becomes too much of a chore.

When they get back to the flat finally, Zayn has re-awoken from the slumber they'd left him in and Harry dutifully stands and makes them tea as they make small talk. They talk well into the evening; the words never seem to run out. Zayn disappears multiple times throughout the evening for a smoke break and when it’s just the two of them they clamber onto the same sofa and share little kisses and jokes and just moments together.

 

***

 

The first week back at work after half term is killer for Louis. He tries to remember that this is the last term before the summer holidays, he can do this. Only six short weeks to go and then another six weeks to kick back and relax, hopefully with his boy. His week off had been bliss, obviously, topped off with the most amazing weekend of music and drinking and revelations. He hadn’t wanted to leave his bed or Harry the whole time, so when he had to it was like a slap in the face.

Parents evening the following week looms over him like a black cloud; trying to coordinate parents evening with a bunch of four and five year olds and their thoroughly uninterested parents is definitely the worst part about teaching.

Throughout the week the schedule gradually fills up, appointments booked and rebooked and pencilled in then erased so many times the page is a jumble by Friday evening when Louis tries to peruse it.

Harry sits opposite him on the sofa, one leg tucked underneath himself and the other outstretched, hanging off the end of the jutting end of the L-sofa. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other all week – in person, the other time was on FaceTime – and Louis knows that Harry would probably much rather he didn’t have his nose in his books.  
  
Harry doesn’t make any attempts to distract him from his work, which makes him a strange, unexpected mix of disappointed and grateful. He strains his eyes to watch Harry without moving his head. He tries an exaggerative sigh to no avail, then he tries shifting his bum in his seat. He’s millimetres closer to Harry now but he still doesn’t flinch.

“Harry!” He sighs in the end, his subtly obviously too subtle for his boyfriend.

“What?” Harry asks, looking up from his phone screen where he was more than likely playing Clash of Clans.  
  
“Pay attention to me!” Louis whines indignantly, heaving the ring binder off his folded legs onto the coffee table.

“But you’re-”

“I know I said I were busy but I want cuddles!” Louis pouts, quickly learning that this will get him his own way on most occasions. He clambers to his knees and crawls across the sofa to Harry, climbing onto him as he straightens out his own legs. Straddling Harry with his knees pushed into the cold leather, he slots his fingers together and hooks his hands around the back of Harry’s neck. “Cuddle me?”

Obligingly, Harry winds his arms around Louis’ waist and pulls Louis into him. He slides down Harry’s legs so their tummies press together.

“Hi, gorgeous.” Louis whispers against Harry’s warm skin as he nuzzles his neck. The jut of Harry’s collar bone presses into his own cheekbone, which might be uncomfortable but he doesn’t move and Harry doesn’t shake him off.

“Missed you this week.” Harry returns softly, mewling into Louis’ hair as he burrows his face deeper into Harry’s neck. His arms hold Louis a bit tighter now, their fully clothed bodies melding together with sticky heat. “Shouldn’t you be sorting out your work?”

“No! Snuggles please!” Louis whimpers like a child, lowering his grip around Harry so his arms slide into the tight space between Harry and the back of the sofa. “I don’t get to snuggle you hardly ever!”

“That makes no sense. You’ve been spending too much time with four year olds, my dear.”

“Occupational hazard! You’re always covered in icing sugar and smelling like cupcakes.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!” Louis moves his head down onto Harry’s chest, the younger but bigger man shuffling in his seat and reclining back so Louis can unfold himself. The vibration of Harry’s hearty chuckle goes right through Louis and it tickles.

“Not a bad thing.” Louis mumbles, pulling out one hand so he can pat Harry’s chest. His hand is creased with the imprint of the grooves in the leather. “Kiss me?”

Harry nods and they lift their lips to each other, pressing soft, closed-mouth kisses into each other’s lips to begin with. Harry's hands ghost over Louis' body as if he's too hot to touch and he's trying to find somewhere comfortable to rest them. He hovers over his hips and around the curve of his bum and over his biceps before resting his hands flat against Louis' chest. His fingertips curl over his shoulders as Louis gyrates against Harry, desperate for the friction.

"Urgh, I missed you!" Louis whines again, pulling away for only a millisecond before Harry pulls him back in. Laughing against his lips, Louis lets him reintroduce his tongue to his mouth. He can't help the satisfied little yelps and sighs that escape him as they kiss, and Harry's hands eager all over his body don't seem to mind either.

 

* 

 

The following Thursday is the hottest day of the damn year so far, typically, because Louis has to spend an extra three hours stuck inside his stuffy classroom. Even with the windows open it’s stuffy. The sun radiates heats off the glass of the roof windows making it even hotter.

By the time he’s half way down his list of parents his sleeve is damp with the sweat that he discretely mops from his forehead and across his nose.  
  
He hadn’t even managed to intersperse the good kids with the more challenging ones, so following a run of three disgruntled parents oblivious to the behaviours of their little angels, he’s just about ready to spit. His phone nudges up against his thigh in his pocket and hasn’t buzzed once either, which he won’t admit riles him a little more than perhaps it should.

The last parent of the session is Madison’s mum, Katie. She’s younger than Louis, as most of the parents are, probably no more than twenty one, Louis’d say. She reminds him of his sister Felicite in the way she doesn’t seem, act or really look her age; completely professional and a credit to their age group.

Wistfully, he pulls himself back into focus as Madison’s mum continues to speak. “She loves you so much, Mr Tomlinson, she’s had such a fantastic year, she will miss you when she goes up next term.”

“She is a lovely child; you’ve done a cracking job with her.” Katie blushes profusely and clutches onto Madison’s cardboard folder full of paintings and drawings and arts and crafts masterpieces. “I don’t have any concerns with her work at all, you’ll see some lovely pieces in there. Her imagination is great and her number work is really coming along. Her use of colour is fantastic.”

Katie preens under the compliments and Louis finds his chest feeling tight; what the hell? “The reports will be sent home with the children over the last week of this term, and as usual there’ll be a form for your feedback.”

“Thank you, Mr Tomlinson. Thank you for everything.” Katie wraps an arm around Madison’s shoulders, who sits on the chair next to her mum swinging her legs. “Say thank you to Mr Tomlinson, Mads.”

“Th-thank you, Mr Tom-lerson.” Madison says quietly, tripping over his surname in the cute way she always has.

“That’s okay, Miss Maddie. I will see you tomorrow for the colours of the rainbow quiz, won’t I?” He asks Madison, playing up a hopeful expression. She giggles and nods shyly into her shoulder.

*

It’s a relief to have the looming black cloud of parents evening past him now. He mutters to himself as he traipses across the playground with his messenger slung over his shoulder and a second structured bag holding all the paperwork from parents evening. It’s times like this he wishes he had got a car when he passed his test instead of just using his license as a form of ID to get served in clubs.  
  
It’s no cooler in the evening time, and the sun continues to bake his skin as he waits for the bus. The time on his phone and the time on the bus timetable are twenty three minutes apart, so he sighs heavily and sets down both bags on the ground. His shirt sticks to his back as he moves and he feels bloody disgusting.

The end of term, despite his exterior bravado about six weeks of uninterrupted peace, is an emotional time and parents evening is no better. Some of these kids have become like his own children – some of them he can’t wait to wave off into year two to Becky – and although this isn’t the first time he’s experiencing the end of term and his kids moving on to higher planes, he feels weirdly emotional.

He throws his head back skyward and figures he must look pretty stupid with his aviator sunglasses and rolled up sleeves.

He scrolls Facebook for lack of anything better to do to pass the time; his last text to Harry still sitting unanswered in his inbox. Liam has uploaded Sophia’s ultrasound picture, tagging both their entire extended families in it. Louis smiles softly as he reads the caption beneath the picture and hits 'Like'. He yawns three times while he scrolls the rest of the over-sharing crap that comes up on his Facebook timeline.

Alas, the bus is four minutes overdue, so by the time he gets on and swipes his monthly pass, he is spitting. As predicted, it’s hotter on the bus than it is outside, and the stupid slit-like windows are open but offer no relief from the heat. Roll on bloody November when it’s cold.

Despite his better judgement, he texts Harry again, just something short and breezy but he still has no reply by the time he gets off at his stop.

He traipses across the field, past a game of football happening between some kids, and for a second he pines for his youth. Pines for the freedom of even his teens or early twenties; before Real Life began and he had to learn how to adult.

“Could whack in a lasagne or some oven chips…” He mutters to himself as his front door releases and he steps into his flat. As he sinks down the weighty bag of reports, it hits him immediately; he can smell cooking and he can hear life.

He edges his way up the hallway, not even bothering to kick off his shoes or dump his other bag. The laminate clunks under his feet and he is greeted by Harry spinning around from his position at the hob.

His kitchen is a mess. There’s a bag of potatoes ripped open on the counter top, two sauce pans and a frying pan bubbling away on the hob and various packets and foreign cooking utensils littering every available surface. The smell is distinctly spicy but a bit sweet and for some reason, Louis’ heart shoots down through his body to his gut.

“Hi?” Harry’s smile falters and he looks concerned, sheepish, like he’s about to jump out of his skin. “Are you alright?”  
  
Louis nods silently. He is struggling to take in the hub of activity that is going on in his kitchen. His kitchen has never seen this much bustle since the first and only time he cooked dinner for his mum and Mark.

“What’s all this?” Louis breathes heavily, quite unable to process. His messenger slides off his shoulder and crashes to the floor unceremoniously.

Harry’s face falls further, if that’s possible, and he pulls the tea towel off his shoulder. He fiddles with it relentlessly and he whispers quiet as a mouse, “It’s dinner.”

“I can see that,” Louis says, and he doesn’t mean to sound quite so standoffish. “I, uh, I was gonna have a ready meal or something.”

“Well, I just thought you’d like a proper dinner for once?” Harry says, innocuously enough but something about it prickles Louis’ skin and he has to clamp a hand around the back of his neck to calm himself down.

“What do you mean, a proper dinner, for once?” Louis spits out the last two words, unable to distract himself from the red flag that has suddenly come up in his mind. “I’m not a fuckin’ child, Harry, Jesus I can take care of myself!”  
  
“I didn’t say you were!” Harry does not meet Louis' anger with his own, rather displays panic across his eyes. "I'm sorry I just... I didn’t think it would bother you."

"It doesn’t bother me I just-" Louis turns his back as he speaks, setting both his palms down flat on the only available section of counter top. He flexes his shoulders to release a bit of pressure burning down his spine from sitting hunched over a desk for the last three-something hours.

"You're acting bothered..." Harry says, so quietly under his breath that Louis almost misses it.

"You what?" Louis whips back around, so confused by what is going on right now that he can’t see through the fog to curb his emotions before they escalate.

“I don’t get it, Louis!” Harry erupts, and Louis snaps back as if burned. “You are fine to eat all the crap I bring back from work but I try and make you a nice dinner ‘cuz I know you’ll be tired from work and suddenly it’s like I ran over your grandma!”

“Harry-”

“What have I done, Lou?” Harry stops him dead, and the beautiful nickname sounds so sad it hurts Louis in the chest. “I thought you’d like this, thought you liked me.”

“I do!” Louis cuts in, though it feels futile. “I just…”

“Just what, Louis?” He’s never seen this kind of outburst from Harry, didn’t think it was possible. “You confuse the hell out of me. One minute you’re all over me the next you’re screaming at me for making you dinner! What do you want from me?”

By the time Harry finishes his sentence, his voice is timid and destroyed again.

“I just wasn’t expecting it!” Louis says, attempting to keep his voice on one level, and failing miserably. “I just, I’ve just come home, I’m knackered and fucking sweating somethin’ rotten, I just wanted to have a wee an’ a bath and… bloody hell, I’m not used to this, it’s too much!”

“Too much?” Harry repeats, his eyes dropping as quickly as Louis’ heart had. “You were all over me after that night at Ed’s gig. Sorry but that gave me the impression you were interested. Did I just get that completely wrong?”

His words are accusatory and angry but there is none of that in his tone. “No, I just… I wasn’t prepared for this and I’ve had a shit day-”

“And I’m here trying to cook you dinner and cheer you up, what’s so wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it…” Louis trails off as he hears Harry take a deep breath in. He’s ready to go off again.

“Help me out here. I thought you were interested? I thought you knew how I felt? I told you… I thought you knew I felt something big for you.”

He goes to open his mouth to defend the situation but Harry cuts him off. “Look, just forget it.”  
  
Harry moves to walk away from the hob, even though the pots and pans cooking away can’t just be forgotten like that. He watches with bile rising in his throat as Harry makes for the door, scuffing his feet.

“Haz, wait!”

“It’s alright, Louis, y’don’t need to say anything.” Harry doesn’t even look back. “I shouldn’t have just assumed, I was just trying to help. I’ll just… give you some space.”

“I’m just being stupid, H, look, don’t go, I’m sorry.” Louis awakens from his stupidity crisis and bolts across the room to block the door handle. “I’ve ruined a nice surprise you tried to do for me and I’m sorry.”

They stand for a couple of moments in almost complete silence. Nimrod, Dookie and Pinkerton’s fish tank filter bubbles away and the wall clock ticks around and around. Louis’ breathing is heavy, a mix of his rising internal thermometer and the sudden burst of exuberance that propelled him across the living room.

“It’s not entirely ruined.” Harry says after a long pause. His head, that has been decidedly down turned for the last minute or so slowly picks up, and despite everything, he still looks fond and a smile tugs on his lips.

Reaching out to touch Harry, he loops his forefinger around Harry’s and pulls him closer. Gently, he says, “I’m sorry, love, I really am. I don't know why I'm being such an arse.”

“It’s okay, I’m still learning how to… y’know, do a relationship.” Harry says, falteringly, before adding in no more than a whisper, “I’m sorry I got it wrong.”

Louis feels about an inch tall in that moment, the wind completely taken out of him. His panic and regret fuels him as he drops Harry’s hand and grabs hold of the loose fabric of his t-shirt to pull him closer. “Harry, I’m sorry. It’s me that is sorry. I was a shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says, trying to be reassuring, no doubt, but Louis feels no such assurance. “I guess we’re both learning?”

Louis nods. He feels so guilty for the amount of apologising and placating 'it’s okay's' Harry has had to use tonight, but he knows Harry is right. They are both still learning how to be in a relationship after such a long time on their own, respectively. “Lemme go t’the loo, then we can eat? Yeah?”

Harry nods and returns to the kitchen as Louis makes his way towards the bathroom; the sanctity of the tiled box room a space for him to be alone with his thoughts. He hadn’t wanted to upset Harry; he hadn’t even intended to get angry when he saw the dinner being plated up. It was dinner, for Christ sake, who gets angry over a nice dinner?

Moping, he sits down to wee, like he does when he’s tired or it’s the middle of the night. He props his weary self up on his arm resting on his thighs and exhales loudly. “Stupid fuckin’ idiot, Lou.”

He hears the microwave ping and he feels terrible guilt once again for his outburst. The look on Harry’s face when he’d peered up at Louis from the plates that had been the nail in Louis’ coffin.

When he returns, Harry has set the plates down at the table in Louis’ seldom used dining room, a square box room jutting off the kitchen with floor to ceiling windows that Louis had always found a bit pretentious.

“I hope it’s okay,” Harry murmurs as Louis slips into the seat next to him. They sit at a right angle around the glass top square table. Their knees knock together and Louis takes it as a good sign that Harry doesn’t move away from their point of contact.

“It’s lovely, it really is. I feel so spoiled.” Louis says with a deep breath. Long term, there is a lot of learning left to do here, and a lot of making it up to Harry in the short term.

He peers down at the plates, steam billowing from a seasoned grilled chicken breast. He examines a pile of roasted vegetables, identifying carrots but that’s about it. He has no problems figuring out what the creamy white pile of fluff is, though.

“Wow, this is a million times better than anything I could ever slip out of a plastic tray. How do you get the chicken to do that criss-crossy thing?”  
  
“Just in the griddle pan, tenderise the strips and cook for about eight minutes on each side.” Harry says as if he is explaining how to get to the post office from the bus stop.

“My clever boy,” Louis looks at Harry; he clearly has no idea just how amazing he is. Quietly, he adds, “I’m sorry again, okay?”

Harry just nods in acceptance of Louis’ apology and Louis watches him closely as he stabs at a forkful of veg. Louis also notices that Harry has less mash and more vegetables, as opposed to Louis’ more mash and less vegetables. Harry chews timidly, as if he’s going to burst into flames at any moment. His head elevates slightly but his gaze doesn’t waver. “Stop watching me.”

Letting out a pent up burst of laughter, warm and comforting relief washes over Louis as Harry grins back at him broadly. The mood is significantly lighter after that, and they finish eating, Louis asking after every mouthful ‘what was that?’ or ‘how did you do that?’.

Harry, who is now sitting half on his chair and half off it, has since laced his fingers together in Louis’ and their conversation flows more easily now. “Do you still wanna have a bath?” Harry asks, unlinking their hands and setting about fiddling with the plates and cutlery.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind?”

“No, I’ll just wash up and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Harry says it so plainly, the sensible side of Louis who has work in the morning and still needs to sort through the parents evening slips, have a bath and attempt to make something for his lunch, says that he should let Harry go. The other half of him, the evidently more vocal side, wants Harry to stay. He doesn’t want to sleep alone. He finds himself saying, “Don’t go home.”

“I don’t have any spare clothes here.” Harry points out feebly, and Louis deems that quite a transparent excuse. His face must give him away because Harry shies away awkwardly.

“You can stick them in the washer now and then I'll whack on the tumble dryer, God knows the thing never gets used, it’ll do it good to get a go ‘round.”

“I don’t wanna impose…” Harry dwindles, dodging to avoid Louis’ incoming swat of his hand.

“You’re not. I’ve gotta put a load on anyway, you’re more than welcome.”

“Okay,” Harry doesn’t take too much persuading. “Just let me let Zayn know.”

“D’ya have to?” Louis asks, grimacing as he imagines the torment he will get from Zayn once he finds out about their ‘sleepover’. “He’ll rib us for days.”

“Let him.” Harry says plainly, standing up with the stack of crockery, leaning over to plant a kiss on Louis’ forehead.

*

Despite the fact that not one week ago, Louis had been throat deep in Harry and damn shameless about it, he suddenly felt incredibly nervous as he navigated his way out of the day’s clothes until he was just in his boxers and socks. His shed clothes remain in a pile on the floor of his bathroom instead of maybe gathered on the toilet seat like a well-adjusted person might do. He stands on the toe of each sock to pull them off without having to bend over, and bumps the hot water dial up a little as he waits. Shy for some reason, he wriggles out of his boxers and doesn’t allow himself to look.

He lowers himself into the impossibly hot bath, the temperature of the water taking his breath away as he took the plunge and sank down into it, past the fragrant bubbles. Stretching out his legs until they reach the end of the bath, he sinks his shoulders under and promptly back up again, gasping for air as the heat hits his chest and back. Just the way he likes his bath. Far off in the distance he can hear the pipes creaking and groaning, indicating Harry has finished the dishes and has pulled the plug out.

Moments later, there is a soft knock at the door and Harry peeks through a tiny crack in the door. “Are you decent?”

“Would it matter if I said no?” Louis jokes as Harry smiles reassuringly and lets himself in. He settles on the turned down toilet seat, tucks one leg behind the other knee and leans back against the cistern. He’s changed into the singular pair of tracksuit bottoms Louis owned that would sort of fit him, and had a tank top on that Louis wasn’t sure the origins of.

“Dishes are done. I just left them to drain. I didn’t want to put them back wrong or something.”

Bless, he seems nervous. “Thank you, you didn’t even have to do that. You cooked, I should wash up, right? Isn’t that how it normally works?”

“Maybe next time?” Harry asks, though he looks timid and unsure again, like he’s terrified to say the wrong thing. He’s reminiscent of the Harry that Louis first met; shy and terrified and so mild-mannered he made Mary Poppins look like Ozzy Osbourne.

“Yeah, definitely.” Louis says firmly, trying to instil some reassurance into his boyfriend. And wow, that still felt weird to say.

Harry, to his credit, asks Louis all about parents evening, he remembers the names of at least three of the kids that Louis has spoken about in the past, and he reaches down into the water to drain some of it away when Louis wants to top up with some more hot.

It’s gone ten when Louis decides that maybe it is time to be getting out of his bath. His feet and hands have started to crumple and the bubbles have all but melted away to nothing.

“Uh…” He says sharply when he realises he has to get out of the bath, the most undignified of tasks, with Harry sitting there. “Lemme just… sorry. I need to get out of the bath and there is no dignified way to do that.”

“Sorry, I’ll look the other way.” Harry says, hurriedly spinning on his bum so he is facing the wall. With a splash, Louis heaves himself out of the water and grabs the towel waiting for him in the sink.

Water and suds slide down the contours of Louis’ body as the water, bubbles and grime of the day noisily disappear down the plug hole. Harry turns back round, getting to his feet.

With Louis stood inside the bath and Harry pulled up to his full height, they were at the perfect level for kisses. “C’mere,” Louis breathes, clutching the towel around his waist with one hand and pulling Harry in closer with the other. Remembering he is wet, he keeps a degree of distance between them, despite how badly he wants to melt into Harry’s body.

“You smell lovely,” Harry says against his lips, the slight vibration of the noise tickling Louis’ lips. Harry edges closer as they kiss, seemingly not caring about the dampness.

“You’re getting wet, love.” Louis mutters into a kiss, trying to separate their bodies a little to no avail. Harry’s skin, not as hot as his own for once, makes contact with his own making his breath hitch. Harry’s hands slide around the slippery curves of his hips and his fingers expand over the fluffy white towel that hides his modesty. It’s not just his freshly washed skin that is hot to the touch, inside he feels warm enough that he might suddenly catch light, Harry’s fingers trail his pink skin leaving a burning trail behind them.

“I don’t care.” Harry insists, beginning to slowly circle his hands and simultaneously nudge Louis forward again so their bodies are touching. “C’mon, let’s go to the bed, please?”

In one fluid movement that just sort of happens, Louis has his arms tightly around Harry and he lifts him right out of the bath. He wraps his legs tightly around Harry’s middle; his towel slipping off and into the water but neither of them can care. Harry coaxes the bathroom door open with his foot and carries a dripping Louis carefully down the laminate floored hallway into the bedroom.

Louis uses the short commute to suckle at the exposed skin of Harry’s neck, knowing he has no spare hands and therefore is powerless to stop him. Kindly remembering that Harry has to go to work tomorrow, he doesn't suck hard enough to leave a mark, rather noting that he’ll save that for lower down Harry’s body.

Harry crashes through the door with his back, turning Louis away from the impact. As Harry lowers him onto the end of the bed he uses the heel of his feet to scramble up the bed and his legs part at the knees, Harry falling into place between them perfectly. He's already almost completely hard, from the friction and delightful warmth of being pressed up against the damp fabric of Harry's t-shirt.

It only gets more intense as Harry moves up his body, the gaping fabric ghosting over the head of his cock peeking out as his foreskin stretches open. His stomach gives little knotty lurches as the feeling grows, desperate to get a hand on himself, or better, Harry's hand.

"I'm so hard," he utters brainlessly, feeling so completely overwhelmed that he is now saying just whatever is on his mind. He wraps his legs tighter around Harry's body and pulls him closer, eager to get him out of his clothes too.

"I saw," Harry says. Their faces are millimetres apart; they haven't kissed for a moment and Louis feels a bit bereft.

"I want you."

"You want me, yeah?"

"Yeah, I want to feel you. I need you, please." Louis rambles, suddenly too blind to speak clearly. He starts trying to pull Harry's t-shirt off. "Get out of this."

He releases Harry from between his legs as he leans back to get out of his t-shirt. His skin is cool from the dampness of his t-shirt as he comes back down. Skin to skin, he shivers.

"Alright?" Harry pulls back, looking concerned.

"Yeah yeah, just... well, y'know, it's a big night. I mean, if you want to do it? I do but if you don't-"

"Lou, shh babe." Harry stops him. "If you want this, I want this too."

His relieved smile gives away just how nervous he is now that they're here. He lets down his legs as Harry drops to the side of him and shifts his weight onto one arm. He snakes the other hand down Louis' bare body, dancing his finger tips through the sparse expanse of hair before wrapping a soft palm around his achingly hard cock.

"Fuck, y-yeah!" He mumbles into Harry's mouth as he connects their lips together again. His senses battle with what to concentrate on as Harry flicks his tongue into his mouth at the same time as he loops his hand over the head of his cock as he tosses.

"So, so hard, Lou." He utters, fixing eye contact that kills Louis there and then. "So beautiful, Lou. Do you have stuff?"

Louis nods and racks his brain to remember where the lube and condoms are; the latter hasn't exactly been very high on his list of priorities recently. God, he hopes he can find a condom in date.

He rolls away from Harry to search through the bottom drawer of the bedside table. Hidden under a load of old newspaper clippings of his old football team, tangled phone wires and an old TV remote is a small, half-full bottle of Superdrug own brand lube and a solitary Durex that has probably seen better days but will do the job.

Rolling back over onto his back, he holds them up for Harry. Dutifully, Harry takes the bottle first and with a horrifying squelch, he coats his first finger. "Ready?" Harry asks, peering up from his dripping fingers. Louis nods but Lord knows his heart is in his mouth as he presses on.

Harry hums and reaches down, kissing Louis to distract him from the notion. They rock together until they're comfortable enough to last. Louis bites down on Harry's shoulder as he makes his first contact with the puckered skin. He rocks between teasing and probing, then millimetre by millimetre he breaches his red hot rim. A guttural, aching moan rips out of his throat as Harry passes the mid-way point of his finger. He pauses to make sure he's still okay, of course he does.

"Yeah babe, keep going please!" He replies, a little desperately.

Harry continues to push against the resistance. Louis can't hold himself back as he feels Harry finally sink down as far as he can go, to the knuckle. They both pause, apparently dumbstruck for a few moments until Harry slowly begins to move the digit.

As he settles into the thickening inside him, his breathing calms and a feeling akin to actual enjoyment overcomes him. "Another."

Harry inserts finger number two with more finesse. He can feel the messy distribution of lube trickling down his crack and settling under his cheeks, and he is still screamingly tight as Harry's two fingers work back and forth inside him. Eventually, they both begin to relax with each other and a rhythm is established.

It's not long before Harry starts to scissor and curve the tips of his fingers until Louis is grabbing wildly at the sheets and stifling his moans into his shoulder.

"I'm ready..." He says under his breath, his hand that had been trying to grip the sheets flying up to Harry's bicep with a reaffirming squeeze.

The little look they share says all they need it to, and Harry gives one last wiggle of his fingers before easing them out and wiping them on the sheets reflexively.

"Sorry, shoudlnt'a done that..." He mutters a half-hearted apology. Louis dismisses it; it's the least of his worries at the moment."Ready love, yeah?"

The rustle of the metallic wrapper coming off is like music to Louis' ears, but as he watches Harry take the slippery device in his fingers suddenly all his limbs feel like dead weight and he's nervous. It's been a long time; a long time as in close to a year.

"Alright?" Harry touches a hand softly to Louis' leg, bringing him back to the present.

"Yeah, yeah sorry. Ready."

The time between Harry sliding the condom on, slicking himself up and nudging his head against his slack hole is a blur to Louis; all he has to do is get past the initial burn of the first inch or so and then it'll be okay.

Their breathing is equally heavy and until Harry bottoms out neither of them say a word. Harry let's out the pent up breath that he'd been holding onto and Louis shifts minutely under him, silently requesting him to start moving.

Once Harry has a rhythm set up, all of Louis' inhibitions and fears fall away. He hooks his legs around Harry and sways his own hips up slightly as Harry drives it into him. Almost his entire lower half feels on fire with the movement; he can't tell where the burn of his stretched hole stops and where the heat from his aching muscles begins.

He's breathless and quivering as Harry continues above him; quietly confident and bloody precise. Louis notices his breath hitch a few times as if he is going to say something, and eventually he utters, "I'm sorry, I'm close already."

"It's fine, babe." Louis can hardly find it in himself to mind. With almost every snap of Harry's hips, shudders fly through his prostate and once he has a hand around himself he's teetering on the edge too. "Come with me, babe, c'mon. Come..."

Louis isn't sure quite where that came from, but it only helps them as Harry rolls his hips back and forth, angling himself slightly differently so that he is now hitting Louis' spot head-on. Louis cries out and he almost let's go of himself as tremors shoot through his body from Harry's attack on his senses.

"Fuckin... yeah, c'mon!" He almost demands as Harry grunts through the last two fucks before hanging his head and stammering out nonsense as he comes into the condom inside of Louis.

It only takes Louis a few feeble tugs, along with the horrendously hot sound of Harry coming, to have him coming too. He heaves out an almighty stuttering sigh of relief as the heat rises in him and he feels himself come all over his tummy and hand.

With his hand still wrapped around his pulsing cock, they keep still for a moment. Harry lingers above him, cock still hard inside him, as he catches his own breath.

"Wow..." is all either of them can say.

"Yeah!" Harry finally says something new. Without a formal announcement, he slowly begins to recoil his hips and Louis keens as he feels inch by inch of Harry slide out of him. He flutters around the depleting length as it goes, until soon he's just clenching around nothing. He presses his clean hand down on his stomach, feeling his insides jerk against the pressure.

Harry has discarded and presumably binned the condom before he looks around. He watches Harry as he perches naked on the edge of the bed. His cheeks and across his chest are pink and gleam with a sweaty sheen and he tosses his hair over one shoulder with an animated exhale.

"Thank you," He says softly, not looking up. Louis watches him for a moment, somehow feeling like he was interrupting a moment, even though he himself was very much part of Harry's last Big Moment.

He feels discomfort shoot through himself as he sits up to get a better reach. "Love, thank you. That was... well, it was worth the wait."

Harry smiles and nods as if he agrees. "Yeah it was."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thank you for reading! I hope it was okay.....


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A steady mix of light smut and graphic descriptions of food in this chapter!

Signing his contract and starting the menu planning had got Harry in the mood for his new start. His whole life had undergone a bit of an overhaul of late, and whilst it was exciting and he was happy, it was also daunting. The opening of the restaurant was still months off, according to Mr Baxter, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a lot to do.

Between Louis finishing up the last few weeks of term and Harry juggling his real job and the planning for the restaurant, it's hectic and the first real chance they get to sit down and spend any proper time with each other is the Tuesday night before the summer holidays begin.

It hadn’t been easy, trying to coordinate something; proposing plans just have them misalign with their respective schedules and go unfinished. Not the ideal setting for a brand new relationship that was barely three weeks old.

Harry took over Louis' kitchen - with advanced warning this time - on the Tuesday evening. By the time he gets to the flat via a quick stop off for supplies at Tesco, it’s getting on for 3pm, so he has two and a half hours before Louis will be home and an aim to get the food on the table by 7.30 at the latest.

He can’t help but smile as he pulls open the cutlery drawer to see a vast array of utensils that have obviously never been used before, and wonders from whom and when Louis got them. He sets about locating a bowl and a dish then tips out his bag of ingredients onto the slither of empty work surface between the fridge and the oven. He feels like a contestant on Ready Steady Cook as he empties the bag; his mind races ahead of him as he narrates in his head what ingredients he has and what he plans to make with them, just as if he was on the show himself.

Once the various vegetables are out of their clear plastic bags, he assesses the situation again and begins to put things into piles; dry ingredients, fresh ingredients and meat. He chuckles to himself at the word meat, of course, and starts rolling out pastry.

“It’s not cheating, it’s time saving!” He repeats to himself as he flattens out the ready rolled puff pastry onto a bed of flour. He’s making Louis what he hopes will be a nice slice of comfort food; posh steak and ale pie with seasoned wedges and garden peas. He puts the pastry to the side and preps the stewing steak, searing it in a button of butter than skids around the screaming hot pan until it melts away to a coating of slip for the meat. Once seared, he glugs in the (poshest he could find) ale, stock, vegetables and herbs, turns the heat down and breathes a sigh of relief as he now has an hour or so to chill before he needs to do anything else. Well, apart from chip the potatoes.

 

*

 

Louis is rain soaked when he gets home; Harry hadn’t even noticed it was raining. He’d filled the remaining time waiting for Louis by spying in on Nimrod, Dookie and Pinkerton and washing up what he’s used so far - you can take the boy out of the kitchen but you can't take the kitchen out of the boy.

Dinner goes down a storm, and he’s only twenty minutes later than planned in serving it. “Comfort food!” Louis had expressed gladly when he sat down in front of his plate, and Harry is chuffed with himself.

Clutching a glass of chilled white Zinfandel, Louis explains how his kids have pretty much hit brick walls now and are on go-slows, and that he doesn’t feel much better off. The countdown to the summer holidays entering single figures had been immense, and now they’re in their last week of term the children have effectively burnt out from the excitement.

He puts his glass down and stops talking to try the food, going for a perfectly cut segment of his pie firstly. “Oh my God, that’s like, better than my mums!”

“Sorry Louis’ mum!” Harry says softly, smiling into his own wine glass. “I’m glad you like it, though.”

Louis nods enthusiastically and continues to shovel in forkfuls; Harry revels in the way he has a little segment of pie and half a potato wedge in one mouthful, errant peas sticking to the saucy filling of the pie.

The second glass of wine is accompanied by Morrison’s raspberry ripple ice cream and is enjoyed in the corner of the sofa. Louis tucks himself away into the right angle, feet tucked behind him and under his bum as he leans into Harry on the right, one of his own legs tucked under the other as he rests the cold tub on his knee.

With one spoon, consumption is unhurried and Harry decides in a minute that grapes and raspberry go very well together in liquid form.

“This was a great idea,” Louis tells him. He finds himself chewing on the inside of his lip as he watches the spoon linger in Louis’ mouth for a beat longer than is probably necessary. “That food was, like, delicious.”

“I’m so glad you, like, liked it!” Harry says back, only slightly teasing.

Louis rolls his eyes and smiles as he pulls the spoon from his mouth and uses it like a sword; jabbing Harry’s chest before giving it over so he can get some ice cream. “Don’t mock me, you’ll give me a nervous disposition.”

“You don’t need me to do that, weirdo.” Harry says, moulding a curl of pink ice cream with his tongue.

“Oh!” Louis grapples with the pillow that he is propping his body up on, tossing it to the side and vaulting himself over Harry’s lap. His legs fall flat to the sofa and Louis shifts himself around until they’re comfy - because comfort first, of course. “Are you eating that ice cream or is it just burning straight off your acid tongue?”

Harry finds himself contorting his body and giggling shamelessly as Louis kneads the knuckles of one hand into his hip bone, for torture apparently. Tickle torture is the absolute worst. “Stop!” He yells, holding the ice cream aloft. It’s been out of the freezer and in their warm mitts for getting on for half an hour now; it’s beginning to melt and an idea crosses his mind that maybe wasn’t the best one, but his brain and limbs are running away from him before his Better Judgement can stop them.

Louis shrieks as Harry takes a globule of ice cream and scrapes it across his cheek. The rapidly melting dessert slides down Louis’ face and down his neck, slipping inside the material of his t-shirt. His hand flies up to wipes it away but that really only makes matters worse. “Oh my God, you’re dead!”

“No, away!” Harry leans his arm back behind them as far as it can go, trying to keep Louis away from the ice cream. The older man lifts himself up off his lap and smashes his body into Harry’s face as he stretches up to grab for the carton. Harry feels it slipping in his fingers, the icy chill melting away to glassy condensation.

In the end, Louis lifts up with knees, crotch pressed to Harry’s tummy, and grabs the ice cream container with both hands, cackling victoriously as he goes. “Mine! Revenge is mine!”

Harry tosses and turns left and right trying to avoid Louis and the handful of cold, pink mess he has scooped up into his palm. “Sorry, babe, I had to do it!” Louis says proudly as he shoots his sticky hand up Harry’s t-shirt and smears ice cream over his abdomen and chest.

“Oh my God, you git!” Harry’s back arches off the back of the sofa as the ice cream begins to quickly start its melty descent down his body. It slides down his tummy quickly, curving around his hip and settling in his bellybutton, which is _gross_. “Urgh, it’s in my bellybutton!”

“I’ll lick it out,” Louis says and before Harry can decide whether he’s joking or not, Louis’ pulling at the hem of his t-shirt and coaxing him forward so he can strip him off. He drags it off over his head roughly and lets it drop behind the sofa carelessly. He presses a few firm, fleeting kisses into his chest before shuffling off his lap awkwardly and dropping to his knees to get a better vantage point. He laps up the tracks of ice cream that have driven their way down his tummy, slurping up the sugary goodness with his tongue. Harry wriggles beneath him, a mixture of ticklish squirming and over-his-head desire. He just about loses it when he feels the pointed end of Louis’ tongue dip into his bellybutton with a slurp and a little hum.

“Mmm, yummy!” Louis squeaks as he sits back up, licking his lips. He climbs back onto Harry’s lap, and he hadn’t noticed how he missed Louis being close until he is close again. With his forearms pressed against his bare chest and his petite hands pressed into his shoulders, Louis leans forward and shares a small kiss.

Just one little closed mouth kiss, that tastes faintly of raspberry, is all he gets, and it drives him wild. He brings himself forward off the back of the sofa again, chasing the close contact of their lips together that he’d had only a very brief taste of. “Come back,” He murmurs before their lips press together again. He can feel Louis’ warm smile as they kiss, the soft and tender massage of lips together before he opens up to let Louis’ tongue past.

He lives for the firm press of Louis against him; every pore and every fibre of their bodies melding together. His own hands ghost over Louis’ thighs and bum and lower back, unable to quite find somewhere he wants to rest them. “Busy hands,” Louis says softly, brushing his lips delicately against his own before kissing him again.

“You have no idea.”

With the massive, really _unnecessarily_ big wall clock in Louis’ front room, it is hard not to keep track of time. The desperately horny side of him wants to lift off the sofa and take Louis to bed, legs wrapped around his middle and mouth on his neck, but the other side of him knows they both have work tomorrow, himself in just a few short hours, and sleep really is the only sensible option here.

“I’m looking at the time, I should probably get going.” Harry says, setting off confidently but unable, ultimately, to resist the pull of Louis’ puppy dog eyes and pout. “C’mon, Lou, you know I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t _really_ have to.”

“Why don’t you stay?”

“No,” Harry says firmly, though his fingers are still laced with Louis’ and his grip tightens. “I really must go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Louis holds him by the door and delays his exit for as long as possible, but eventually he’s out in the hallway then down the stairs then out on the parched street. The very last surviving remnants of sun are just about to dip below the horizon, and the expanse of sky it sits on is dark bluey-purple.

The trace of Louis’ finger tips and lips mark him up like tattoos and he feels like he’s so obvious as he gets home to a pleasantly buzzed Zayn lounging on the sofa halfway through half-watching X-Men.

“The wanderer returns!” Zayn says without even looking round. Harry takes that as Zayn laughs softly to himself. “How’s lover boy?”

His first instinct is to feel embarrassed at Zayn’s comment; it’s really been so long since he’s had anyone he’s felt this way about. “He’s fine,” He says, sitting down on the opposing sofa.

“Should I expect less and less of you over the coming months then?”

Harry hadn’t really thought about it. Sure, he’d been spending a considerable chunk of his free time at Louis’ flat, but that was mainly because his place was sans annoying friend/roommate. He also fully expected the initial furore of their new relationship to die down eventually, and the need for utter isolation to fuck Louis into oblivion wouldn’t be necessary.

“I’ll still pop up.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Zayn asks, and Harry desperately tries to make sense of what Zayn clearly makes sense in Zayn’s head.

“Uh, no?” He tries, Zayn’s plain expression unwavering. Bless him. “Don’t worry; I’ll still pay my rent.”

Zayn is still for a few moments more, before his face breaks. “You’re like, from another world mate.”

Harry nods curtly at that, assuming it is supposed to be complimentary. “Anyway,” He checks the time again, it’s now nearer to eleven than ten and so much for an early night. “I’m turning in. Night.”

“Night, bud.” Zayn lifts a hand and Harry meets him, wiggling their fingers languidly together as he passes by. Harry counts it as a win that Zayn doesn’t ask about the sticky ice cream splashes in his hair. 

 

***

 

Despite his grumblings about parents evening and staying up late into the night writing up reports, the run up to the end of term is bittersweet and contrary to that arsehole James from uni stating in no uncertain terms that teaching isn’t teaching if the children can’t comprehend written or spoken word, his kids are his lifeblood and once he’s left standing in the middle of his classroom at quarter past three on Friday afternoon, he feels a bit empty. Every little red plastic chair is placed on top of the desks, ready for the cleaner to hoover the floors. The sun bleached wall displays are a patchwork of faded paper and original colour where the sun has whitewashed the work that has now been taken down and sent home with the children.

His eyes scan the home corner all packed away nicely, the arts and crafts corner sitting all well-presented and calm, totally unlike the chaos it usually surrounds.

Flicking off the lights and setting the alarm a little morosely, he heads out the door and brightens as he thinks of his boy waiting for him at home.

*

Work is the furthest thing from his mind as the weight of Harry’s upper body pins him down on the sofa, serious déjà vu from the other night – Ice Cream-gate, he’d silently dubbed it. The leather is cool on his back as he ruts up and Harry presses down and they meet in the middle.

Harry kisses urgently, like he's running out of breath. His hands grip his body tightly, working over every inch in a desperate attempt to experience every single pore.

"L-Lou... lube," Harry utters with his eyes screwed up tight as if the brief interlude from kissing kills him.

"Bedside table." He manages to reply, his brain cells turned to mush by Harry. Harry stares at him agape as he realises Louis wants him to go and get it. "Oh, c'mon H, you're closer."

"To what?" Harry squawks, his eyes springing open.

"To the bedroom!" Louis exclaims, pushing against Harry's chest gently in a bid to get him up. He wobbles a bit on one leg but after a degree of sighing and pouting, Harry eventually scurries into the bedroom.

"Get it?"

"Got it."

Harry works him up to three fingers before they realise the mess they're making just isn't justified for the poor, innocent front room so they relocate to the bedroom. He yelps inadvertently as Harry removes his fingers; clenching around nothing as he follows Harry to the bed.

Harry goes to reach back down at the same time Louis grabs his wrist. "I'm ready," He says softly, unable to stand another moment without Harry inside of him. "Fuck me now, please?"

Harry laughs. He actually laughs. "Sorry, just you asked so politely!"

"Well, you've rubbed off on me, Harold."

"Quite literally." Harry deadpans, and its Louis' turn to snort with laughter this time.

"Look, fuck me before I change my mind?" He says, not meaning a single word of his bravado.

Louis produces a second bottle of lube from his bottom drawer; their first bottle lost somewhere between the sofa cushions, probably. He coats Harry himself, watching Harry closely as he bites his lips and his eyelids flutter.

"Ready, babe?" He asks softly, coaxing Harry's body down flush with his with his other hand. 

Harry nods, lining himself up with Louis. The initial breach of his hole always takes Louis' breath away; he quite literally holds onto a deep breath until Harry bottoms out. He catches Harry's eyes that narrow as if to silently ask 'are you okay'. He nods almost indiscernibly, prompting Harry to continue. Which he does. He slowly begins to work in and out, setting the pace and exploring the limits of this special thing they share that is still so new.

His heels dig into Harry's lower back as he sinks down, desperate to pause Harry just for a moment to feel his thick, pounding fullness inside.

"Y'alright?"

"Yeah, just... jus' wanna feel it." Harry nods as if he gets it entirely, and keeps his hips from snapping back up again as he presses a couple of intense, almost bruising kisses into his neck. Each brush of Harry's lips against his skin, matched with his red hot breath, burns through Louis' body to his very core, and his heart beat begins to speed up again with each lick and kiss.

He grabs handfuls of Harry's bum cheeks, digging in his fingernails in hard to prompt Harry into moving again. Harry hits his prostate dead-on on the first go, sending him flying off the bed up against Harry's warm, dusky chest.

Harry takes advantage of him arching up off the bed and wraps an arm around him, closing the gap between their bodies. "Ride me?" Harry whispers, lost in Louis' throaty gasp at his cock slipping out.

Louis doesn't even speak to agree, just allows himself to be moved as they seamlessly switch positions. He lies Harry flat in the warmth he'd left behind. 

He's silent still as he digs his left knee into the space just to the side of Harry's hip and extends out his left leg to reach underneath for Harry's rock-solid length. He hovers and shudders as he feels Harry brush the head of his cock all over his crack and in the pulsating space between his balls and hole.

"Tease...." He manages to get out before Harry takes a firmer hand around himself and pushes the very tip back into him. He finds himself holding his breath again until he's taken every inch of Harry and his bum meets the tops of Harry's thighs. The damming mix of breath-holding, cock introducing and sheer, elated happiness makes him light headed as he begins to move.

With Harry's hands clutching his hips firmly, he works up quite an impressive rhythm and slides up Harry until he's almost out, then slams back down again. The slap of his arse on Harry's thighs is obscene, not to mention the squeak of the springs of the mattress on which they're fucking.

Harry's palms slides encouragingly round his hips and over his cheeks as he breathes heavily to focus on his rhythm. He rolls his hips every time he sinks down, sticking out his bum and curving his spine until he begins to feel his knees slipping further and further apart with each bounce. With amazing precision that they'd <never> be able to do again, they roll fluidly onto their sides and he settles into the curve of Harry's body like a chair, his cock now fucking in and out of him shallowly. It's slow and gives them both a minute to catch their breaths. Harry's thrusts slow down and every drag rocks through Louis.

"Wanna go back?" Harry asks him. His heart has returned to his normal beat and he is chasing his orgasm that he knows will hit him and hit him hard if he climbs back onto Harry.

Once he's back up and back on, he stares down at Harry; messy hair sprawled everywhere and he can see his palm is pinning down one unruly curl but Harry doesn't say anything. Catching his breath, he stills; completely worn out and boneless from Harry. He gyrates his hips in tiny figure of eights, movement minimal and understated but the head of Harry's cock nudges and pokes against his deepest crevices and it takes all his strength not to scream out again. The slow movement means he feels every little tremor and he feels Harry's cock pass over every bump and ridge inside of him. The air is filled with the little whimpers that Louis is unable to stop from slipping out. His lungs ache as he swallows down big gulps of air trying to muster the energy to continue.

He feels Harry buck underneath him and fuck even deeper into him, if that is even possible. With his breath as good as caught, Louis begins to roll with Harry's pulsing little jabs again. The shift in Harry's hips beneath rocks him forward and the new angle sends him flying into orbit with just a few short, sharp bursts. 

He's vaguely aware of Harry's hand wrapping around his neglected cock; not daring to try and think about how Harry is possibly keeping the rhythm to both wank him and fuck him so perfectly at the same time.

"Shit, fu- fuck, yeah..." He breaks down as he starts to come, mouth hanging open with no more discernible sound coming out. His eyes flutter closed so he only listens as Harry comes too. The billowing explosion of warmth inside him fills him up and lets him know things have reached their climax. Harry's hips snap off the bed once, twice as he comes, Louis' slack weight on top of his hips clearly not an issue. 

Carefully, he lifts himself off Harry and sinks into the space next to him, Harry's arm coming up automatically to hold him in place. They come down together, ignoring the deposits that drip and seep until their heart rates have returned to normal and they've maxed out their cuddles.

 

***

 

He falls asleep with his joggers on, and leaps out of bed in a confused, sweaty state at 2am to find it’s obviously not time to get up yet. 

"Lou?" Harry mumbles into the pillow next to him, lifting his head up for a second before letting it drop again. He’s asleep again before Louis can even return to bed; his deadweight limbs stretched across Louis’ side of the bed. Bed sharing on the regular is no easy thing to get used to.

However, when he wakes again naturally at half eight, it's to no recollection of his random middle-of-the-night outburst, and an empty bed. Once his eyes have adjusted to the light, he peers at his phone flashing with notification of a text.

_'Gone to work, enjoy your first day of freedom and I’ll be home for a late breakfast/early lunch at half twelve x'_

_Home,_ Louis thinks with a stupid grin as he puts his phone back down, curling back up under the duvet; lifting his legs, tucking the bottom of the duvet under his feet and folding himself up so the top of the duvet tucks under his chin. He’s safe here until Harry comes back.

Unwilling to disturb the cocoon he has created for himself, he forgoes putting the telly on or reaching for his phone, and inevitably it’s not long before he's asleep again. 

"Lou, babe?" He hears as he wakes, for the third bloody time. The voice is so soft and sounds so far away at first he thinks he's dreaming and ignores it.  Next, there’s a hand on his arm. "Louis?"

He shudders awake with a disgruntled gasp, unsure of what his name is or where he is for a moment. "Whatimesit?" he slurs as he opens one eye to see Harry peering back at him.

"Coming up quarter to one, love."

"In the mornin'?"

"No," Harry says with a soft laugh out of his nose. "In the afternoon. I just got home from work."

"Oh!" Louis says, a bit brighter but he still feels momentarily disorientated. He tries to turn but Harry is sat on the covers, thus trapping him. "I can't believe I slept so long!"

"You must have needed it." Harry says fondly, getting back up off the bed. He is freed from the duvet and he scrambles to hit up himself. He sees the time on his alarm is indeed 12:39. Slowly, as he wakes properly he remembers waking up briefly to read Harry’s morning text - like, it's already a ritual - and promptly going back to sleep. "How about breakfast then?"

"Isn’t it brunch now?" Louis points out, preening in the glowing sunlight of Harry's smile.

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

Breakfast, brunch, lunch - whatever, it's delicious. Harry finds things in the kitchen that Louis didn’t even know he owned. Some things he was familiar with but didn’t know how to use, so the whole thing was an eye-opener really. 

"I just thought that was an ancient torture device left over by the previous tenant." Louis muses as he watches Harry dig out the waffle iron from the back of the cupboard next to the sink.

"Your flat was built in 2005, how ancient could this torture be?"

"I dunno, do you wanna find out?"

"I only like torture that guarantees a happy ending!" Harry says, and Louis' jaw drops open with a giggle.

"Harold, you _dog_!"

Harry grins with the tip of his tongue bitten between his teeth. He heaves the top press open and inspects the griddle. "So you've never used this, right?"

"Correct." Louis says sharply, as if that much was evident already. "You might wanna wash it, it's probably very dusty."

"Where did you even get it?" Harry asks as he runs the tap and looks around for a cloth.

"It was probably a hand me down from me mum. What she thinks I need with a waffle iron, I don't know."

"She probably knew you'd meet me one day and I’d make you waffles." Harry says with a spectacularly cheesy grin.

"I wish she'd have told me sooner you were comin’, would've saved a lotta heartache!"

"Aww, bless!" Harry coos exaggeratedly. Leaning over he scrunches his nose and pouts, "C'mere."

With a reluctant, smiley huff Louis pecks him on the lips, his eyelids fluttering closed as they touch.

He watches Harry contently as he wipes down the waffle iron and dries it off with a tea towel. He cracks eggs into a bowl and tackles them with a hand blender that makes an awful racket. That had _definitely_ been given to him by his mum, he remembered it well from his childhood; the chugging screech of the beaters ruining the peaceful sanctity of fairy cake baking. Harry sifts in flour without making a mess, only a small cloud of white dust that floats through the air and catches the light that streams in through the slats in the Venetian blind.

“Stop watching me, I feel like I’m on Bake Off!” Harry says sternly, but he is smiling when he turns around. Louis quickly deducts that Harry’s dream is to appear on Bake Off, and proceeds to rib him.

“Just pretend I’m Paul, that’ll get the creative juices flowing. Mind, no other juices please, this _is_ a kitchen.”

“Oh my God, Louis you’re _disgusting!”_ Harry exclaims with a grimace, tossing the tea towel in his direction. It doesn’t make a great impact.

“C’mon, all the mums fancy him, there’s nothing to be ashamed of!” Louis presses on, ignoring the missile. “It’s the eyes, isn’t it?”

“There’s only one blue eyed idiot I care about and it’s not Paul flippin’ Hollywood!” Harry says, reaching up with ease to the cupboard for the cooking spray.

“Is it me?” Louis asks innocently, batting his eyelashes furiously until Harry looks back at him.

“No, I’ve suddenly gone off you!” Harry says firmly, trying to battle down a grin. Louis doesn’t let up watching, and observes as Harry spritzes the press with spray oil and adds more dry ingredients to the mix. He notices casually that probably 80% of these ingredients are stuff that Harry has brought with him or that have slowly made their way from the bakery to his flat. In fact, the only things Louis knows to be Tomlinson Originals are the eggs and sugar.

The criss-cross griddle sizzles as Harry artfully pours mix into the wells, tilting the machine with his other hand. From behind, Louis can see the pockets of muscle in his back and shoulders wriggle under the material of his thin white t-shirt as he tilts the iron to the left then to the right, holding the bowl of mix high in the air with his right hand like the show-off that he can sometimes be.

“Show off,” Louis says, voicing his thoughts without filter.

“You won’t be saying that when you try ‘em. These babies are my pride and joy.” Harry is so serious, it makes Louis laugh. The boisterous blender makes a reappearance as Harry takes punnets of strawberries, raspberries and blueberries out of the fridge.

“What are those strange looking things?” Louis asks, recoiling in mock horror at the sight of the blushing fruits. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing bringing this stuff in-”

“Shut up, Lou!” Harry cuts him off with a soft insult pressed against his lips. Louis quietens immediately, save for the odd moan that escapes as Harry’s tongue breaches his lips. It hits him mid-kiss that every kiss from Harry feels like their first.

“Unfair advantage…” Louis mumbles as Harry pulls away.

“C’mon, I’ve only got a finite amount of time to get this sauce done in.” Harry says, bringing the punnet of strawberries over to the opposite counter so he’s still facing Louis. He watches silently as Harry cuts the green stems off eight of the most genetically perfect strawberries he’s ever seen. You know, the ones that make it into recipe books and adverts for Asda or Tesco.

He chucks them in a bowl along with a handful of raspberries and a glittery dusting of sugar. He sinks a sharp knife through the middle of an orange and squeezes half into juice over the mix before sticking in the head of the blender.

He peers in cautiously at the waffle as the sauce bubbles away on low in a saucepan, and the furrowing of his brows knitting together means business; Louis knows that look already. Distractedly, he adjusts his pyjama bottoms on his hips and is made aware of the beginnings of something in his boxers. Shit, when did he become a foodie?

He channels his attention onto something else less sexy, at least until they’ve eaten. He focuses on reading the serving suggestion on the side of the strawberry punnet – seriously, who needs guidance on how to eat a strawberry, Tesco? - while Harry blusters around the kitchen gathering together the final touches.

“Can you get plates, love?” Harry asks, providing Louis the perfect distraction he was looking for. Dutifully, he gets two patterned edge dinner plates out and sets them on the side for Harry. The microwave pings at the same time as Harry releases the waffle from the press.

He presents Louis a few moments later with half of the waffle cut into two, stacked artfully like something off of the telly. An ‘X’ shaped drizzle of two different sauces – one presumably the fruity one, and another sweet and creamy like caramel or something – cover the golden brown delights and a handful of strawberries chopped into quarters garnish the waffles. He’s topped the whole thing off with a sprinkle of icing sugar and really, if Louis was the type to Instagram his food, he’d Instagram these.

“Wow!” He says flatly as he stares at the plate. “I’m… wow!”

“You haven’t tried them yet.” Harry says modestly, though Louis knows that they’re Harry’s so they’re probably going to taste like heaven.

He was right, they are delicious. The sweet, warm drizzle of sauce sets his mouth alight with the mixture of tangy, tart fruit and creamy smooth butterscotch. “I’m definitely keeping you.” He says, covering his mouth from embarrassment with a mouthful, unable to coordinate talking, smiling and chewing at once.

That statement is only strengthened when they crash down onto the bed in a tangled mess of limbs and naked torsos later on, still shaking and breathless from their orgasms.

Things are looking good. Liam and Sophia finally have another shot at happiness, he and Harry have their brand new relationship with so many firsts to look forward to, and Zayn and Niall... well, they can battle it out for who will get to be Godfather to Baby Payne...

Though it’ll be Louis, obviously.

 

/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a half-planned epilogue of sorts that may or may not follow at some point. 
> 
> **Title from The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot by Brand New** 
> 
> Disclaimer – Obviously, nothing is mine apart from the storyline and any original characters. This is entirely fictional.
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading. I’m happy to have this completed and I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know if you did, I’d be so grateful to read any comments you may have.
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr: mummyamy10


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